… We do the monster mash!
Halloween. A holiday that, by my estimation, was created as an excuse for young children to get hopped up on sugar, and for girls to have an excuse to wear skimpy clothes, no questions asked. With the pressure associated with a) finding a costume; b) finding a fun place to be; and c) actually having fun while dressed in said costume at said place, its no wonder that the very mention of Halloween strikes fear in my prudeish heart. And this fear has nothing to do with the ghouls and goblins that roam the streets, knocking on your door and demanding treats.
Lets begin with the costume. I’m not an uncreative individual, but scrounging together an original disguise that is comfortable, attractive, affordable and practical for a Canadian October is darn near impossible. Usually by the time October 31st rolls by I’ve exhausted at least 10 different ideas due to lack of funds, lack of material at the Value Village or lack of desire to literally freeze my ass off. So I end up dressing as unidentifiable-fairy-slash-nymph-number-9. Without wings, because those were sold out mid-September.
The second issue I have with Halloween relates largely to the activities that take place on this devilish night. There is a lot of pressure to find the perfect Halloween party to attend. I was always under the impression that once I turned 19 and was able to gain entry into the coveted clubs of downtown, this problem would instantly resolve itself and my friends and I could dance to our hearts’ content to “Thriller” on repeat. Well, I was right about “Thriller”. However, what I didn’t realize is that no one ever agrees on the best place to go, and once a decision has been made, no one wants to go until 11pm. By which time I’m half asleep and drooling. Once I’ve made the decision to buck-up and head out despite a sleep-deprived state, arriving at the destination club usually results in inevitable Halloween issue number 3: Canadian weather + long lines= hypothermia.
Lets just push past the numb toes and get inside the club. To set the scene, there will probably be at least 3 people dressed as the pop-star-du-jour (last year, Lady Gaga), which may or may not be a last ditch effort to not wear pants. The air will likely be rank with the chemical smells of ethanol and smoke machine emissions. More than likely, someone will spill beer on your fishnet stockings. With any luck, they might also slur an apology. Dragon-breath aside, if that happens you should feel honoured, as apologies are rare in situations of frantic dance-floor bumping and grinding.
Yes, I am a prude and thus probably being both cynical and too judgemental of the holiday we call Halloween. I have my reasons for disliking Halloween, and perhaps its all too predictable that a health freak to a fault would rather eschew festivities associated with mass consumption of high fructose corn syrup in the shape of pumpkins. Maybe I’m being unfairly harsh on the holiday, for it is a good excuse to don a costume and be someone else for a night, something we all crave at times. Maybe I just haven’t found my Halloween niche, or the costume that works time and time again. Or maybe, just maybe, Halloween is just a night that is best left to the little trick or treaters dressed as princesses and pumpkins.