I believe Halloween costumes say a lot about the person wearing them; you know, who they really are underneath it all. Sometimes the skeleton in the closet really comes out of the closet on Halloween. Giggle.
You learn who has a twisted sense of humor or really likes to get into character. Some want to be centre of attention, while others like to freak out everyone. Then there are shy folks, the ones who just don’t get the sheer pleasure of wearing a wacky outfit surrounded by other crazy people having ridiculous fun.
This year, I wanted to get crazy too. My Halloween nightmare began in aisle four of a department store. Amidst rows of costumes, wigs and accessories, my ever-resourceful daughter exclaimed, “I found your perfect costume, Mom. Come see.”
Rushing over, I found her staring at a picture of a statuesque blonde bombshell in fishnet stockings, black Stilettos, wearing a French Maid costume. Housework never looked so provocative to me, but I am sure that feather duster wasn’t meant to capture dust-bunnies. I was also certain if I wore those shoes, I’d never be able to get up from under the couch anyway. That is hardly a sexy image. And I assure you, anything that does housework is not my alter ego.
Temporarily flattered by the thought that my disillusioned child believed me capable of wearing such an outfit with flair, it was immediately evident an uncomfortable conversation was about to follow.
“No way,” I stated. “I would not wear that.” Moving on, I scoured racks of adult costumes that included the tarty angels wearing Stilettos and fishnets, next to the vamped up vampires. Where was the gore, blood, and guts? Where were the zombie brides? When did Halloween become tarty?
“But Mom,” she pleaded. “Dad would love this outfit.”
My daughter is still sweet enough to think women wear this outfit because they want to be the character from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast DVD, you know, the girlfriend of the candlestick dude, Lumiere. I was secure in her naiveté. But I had to end her illusion just the same.
“That costume would actually be cruel to wear, especially for the sake of your father,” I explained. She was dumbfounded.
So there, in aisle four, I explained to my young daughter that French Maid costumes set up unrealistic stereotypes that only upset the applecart of men like the Carpenter, (aka Daddy). It would make Mommy a tease. Not in the way you are thinking, dear reader. I meant that in that outfit, the Carpenter might actually be disillusioned, tricked if you will, into believing I would eagerly adopt a maid role, whereby dinners would be served, laundry would get put away, and his castle would be neat as a pin. Talk about bursting his bubble.
Of course, I could not explain to her that this outfit would also set up another dangerous trap for the Carpenter. Considering the fact that anything outside of flannel pajamas is considered lingerie in this household, I feel certain that the Carpenter would see this sexy costume as some sort of a trap. Perhaps he would think the costume was a bribe to have him do the housework. Wait. I might be on to something here.
Happy Halloween.