I'm probably jinxing myself by writing this, but yesterday was the least anxious day I've had in several weeks. Of course, this makes me incredibly suspicious. I spent most of the day waiting for it to return (it always does) but it didn't make an appearance until after dinner and Sunday's Amazing Race (this "six pack" alliance, whatever, I am so rooting for the beauty queens) when I realized I still had no Halloween costume.
This is just not like me. I'm not necessarily one of those people who plots for weeks and spends a ton of money and goes All Out. But I am not one to turn down an opportunity to dress up or, at the very least, slather my face with greasepaint and fake blood, and I'm a little stymied by my noncommittal-ness this year. Phillip doesn't help. He goes around calling himself the Halloween Scrooge and making sure everyone knows how much he hates dressing up blah blah blah. He is so not fun. I'd finally scrounged up an idea for costumes over the weekend and Phillip, at least, had the workings of a costume going, but I? I had nothing.
Phillip is going to be the Iron Chef. I am going to be the Iron Chef's Ingredient. But oh, what ingredient to be?
After dinner last night, the best idea I had was to be an eggplant. This is because I am the owner of an
eggplant purple aubergine bridesmaid dress I have worn exactly once and probably will never wear again. But I was open to other suggestions. I hauled my costume box downstairs (yes, I have a costume box, but no costume), my feather boas, my bridesmaid dress, my black ball gown skirt that I wear to the Really Annoying Work Event, my crazy shiny cotton candy pink skirt, the slinky red dress (which, woe, doesn't fit anymore, hello twelve weeks pregnant), my Harry Potter glasses and the hot pink and glittery gold fabrics I bought for my tea party table last spring. Something had to work, right?
BUT NO. The pink fabric was too pink and too sheer to turn me into a salmon. The unfortunate bulging in the red dress crossed out any red vegetables. I could not think of any natural food in the colors of black, gold or cotton candy pink. And when I pulled the gold fabric out of the bag just to see, I accidentally dumped leftover confetti all over the floor.
Finally I put the bridesmaid dress skirt over my head so it hung like a tent from my shoulders. All I had to do was cut some arm holes in the sides and somehow pin the bottom to whatever I was wearing underneath (tights? sweatpants? It's going to be FREEZING tonight) to make it balloon out a bit like an eggplant. I had this green netting stuff to wrap around my head like a stem. I was getting pretty anxious at that point. Not because there was anything to be anxious about- it's just how my body responds to stress when I'm already dealing with something to be anxious about. But anyway. The point is: I was stressed out about having to cut arm holes in my fancy satin skirt. Not because I had any intention of wearing said skirt again, but MY GOD, the thought of actually having to find scissors and cut arm holes and figure out what to wear around my shoulders and somehow pin the stupid thing into an eggplant shape was TOO MUCH TO BEAR.
I stood there in the middle of my living room, wearing a skirt as a tent dress, green netting wrapped around my head, freezing cold, my husband trying to ignore the whole spectacle, and I started to cry. WAH.
Okay internet. Me crying is not exactly news. I've been known to cry, in public, over pretty much everything: weddings, movies, a song on the radio, someone's good news, babies, the gloriousness that is Powell's bookstore, an exceptional piece of cheesecake, that time I was waiting at a stoplight and four random strangers stopped crossing the street so they could help this one guy push his stalled car out of the way. But rarely- RARELY!- do I cry because I am UPSET. Phillip has to make me pretty stinking mad before I cry because I'm upset.
But YESTERDAY I cried because I was too tired and too frustrated to deal with a HALLOWEEN COSTUME. Someone, please, lock me up.
Something, however, seemed to switch on inside my dead-to-Halloween husband.
"Are you okay?"
Sniff sniff "nooooooooooooo!" weep blubber sniff.
And then my husband, Mr. Halloween Scrooge, picked himself up off the couch, away from the Lay's potato chips and the television and the fireplace, and proceeded to MAKE ME A COSTUME. While I sat drowning my sorrows in a tub of Starbucks Mud Pie ice cream, Phillip snipped and stapled and measured and turned me into a Paper Bag of Groceries. "I will be the chef," he said proudly, "and you will be all of my ingredients."
This made me cry more, but not because I was upset. FREAKING HORMONES.
And I'm pretty sure I posted this last year, but as I've failed my elementary school teacher mother at costume-making (this woman has a costume CLOSET, and about 400 third grade girls have worn my hideous purple (purple! again!) flower girl dress as medieval princesses and old ladies in nightgowns and fairies and since 1986) I must, at least, post the five little pumpkins poem:
Five little pumpkins sitting on a gate-
The first one said, "Oh my, it's getting late!"
The second one said, "There are witches in the air."
The third one said, "But we don't care!"
The fourth one said, "Let's run and run and run!"
The fifth one said, "It's just Halloween fun!"
Last year I think my sister had to post the right words. This year I'll let her post the requisite finger play. She is, after all, the ACTUAL first grade teacher.