I’m a Halloweenie.

I don’t know if I ever loved Halloween. I remember a mix of excitement and nerves as I got ready to go trick-or-treating as a kid (ringing strangers’ doorbells in the dark!? Never felt quite right). This year, I think I’ve finally put my finger on why (aside from the fact that I absolutely despise getting spooked) I‘m not a fan. The entire Halloween concept–the chance for one day  to be someone or something other than yourself–messes with my sensabilities. I understand that for most people, this is the draw. But, I’d really rather just be me. And have you be you. Because while most costumes are easy to spot as costumes, some are more difficult to decipher. Is that person homeless or just dressed up as a homeless person? Or that kid in the bar over there, is he dressed up as the ultimate Georgetown prepster or is that his normal attire? (Don’t worry, a few vodka cranberries in, I asked him. It’s how he really dresses, though he doesn’t go to Georgetown. But he wishes he did. Or at least wants the name on his diploma. I escaped before he started using me as a sounding board for the rest of his collegiate insecurities). So call me a party-pooper, but Halloween just makes me uncomfortable–too much of a guessing game. I’m happy to have another one safely under my belt  and Thanksgiving on the horizon. A day dedicated to eating is something I can get my head around.

Though, despite my general distrust of all people and things on All Hallow’s Eve, I end with a few of my fondest Halloween memories from years gone by:

-My homemade Pippi Longstocking costume. Complete with pipe cleaners in my braids to make them stick up. Thanks, Mom!

-Trick-or-treating with my best friends, our siblings, and our respective dads. Henning Drive to Fox Meadow to Hobby Lane–same route every year. Had to avoid the egg-throwing, shaving cream-spraying hooligans on Stonehenge. Those kids were trouble.

-Sweet, lazy Jamie dog getting tortured over and over by the doorbell. Couch to front door: repeat! I think it did her in for the rest of the year.

-Dressing up as the crappy beers of Bucknell, complete with pop-top hats. I made a great MeisterBrau.


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