I love holidays in general –it’s no coincidence that one of my actual categories in the blog to which is actually adhere is my category on holidays, for instance.
But Halloween is special. It’s one of the joyous holidays, where most people have a good memory of them from childhood and where most people don’t spend half the holiday in tears or discussing their emotional baggage from having been let down by other people.
In other words, most people can actually enjoy Halloween and look forward to decorating and eating candy and having fun and just plain being happy without thinking much about it and without starting November off without too much frustration or existential angst about, say, another Halloween come and gone without having lost the sixteen pounds or gotten the promotion or having gotten him to commit or her to stop being domineering and no goddamn it Pete I DON’T KNOW HOW YOUR MOTHER COOKS THE GIBLETS FOR THE TWENTIETH TIME.
Halloween = high calorie, low commitment.
Of course, for the adults –and especially for the comely female adults among us– the holiday is about how sluttily you can dress without pulling a Britney. I ran into this great op-ed piece by Joel Stein which sums up my feelings about "sexy Dorothy" and "sexy witch" perfectly.
And as I wrote that, I remembered a little story dealing with great costumes and great comedic timing:
A few years ago, I was working at a place where dressing up for Halloween wasn’t encouraged, but it wasn’t discouraged either. A coworker of mine, who was kind of a by-the-book kind of lady and who seemed rather humorless year-round, was apparently INCREDIBLY into Halloween and surprised us all when she showed up dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West (thank you answers.com!) one year.
Let’s call her Wickie.
Wickie looked flawlessly wicked– she had on fabulous robes and a gorgeous felt witchy hat, and was walking around clutching a stick broom with perfectly manicured hands that had long, clawlike nails. Her skin was an artful shade of bile green which highlighted her eyes– both in color and in beadiness. She even had Victorian lace-up booties, I believe. She looked amazing and scary.
And then there was Wickie’s nose.
Without the aid of makeup, Wickie had a long, narrow, pointy nose nestled a little too snugly between her very serious, very small green eyes. Some would say she had a witchy nose.
So when a friend and I, taken aback by Her Regal Witchness, were rendered semi-speechless, my friend tried to make small talk and zeroed in on Wickie’s face makeup.
"I just love your nose! It’s so incredibly ….realistic!"
Without missing a beat, Wickie picked up something that looked like a small green eraser from her desk, stuck it on with some putty at the end of her nose and said earnestly, "Oh, thank you."
That, kids, is tact.
Enjoy tonight’s candy-thon!