Graduate the Bedsheet Costume

For those of you who are not aware, Halloween is next Monday. I believe it is my job this year to be the informative voice on this upcoming event. You will not believe the number of people who forget this momentous holiday each year. Despite the sudden depletion of all food products with a sugar content above 60% and an invasion of motion censored cackling witches, people are still surprised to hear that Halloween is only a couple days away. The most common excuse I’ve heard is, “But I thought it fell on a Sunday every year!” Ah yes, what are we if not the generation that associates the supernatural and the gluttony of high fructose corn syrup with even a religious holiday like Easter. Some people may think their neighbors are ritually cooking gourds on their front porch, or the white cobwebs lacing the fences and bushes are just a casual pass-by from Spider Man. If this is you, please do not read any further; I completely embrace this alternate reality in which you so happily dwell. More appalling than the people who fail to remember Halloween are those who violate the holiday with the simple white bed sheet, claiming that they are “ghosts.” 
 
Slap some sexy on that.

Poor Snow White wasted away years around that water well pining for the day her prince would come. Sheobviously didn’t get the memo that she should have ditched the apron for a shorter hemline and stilettos. At a Halloween party last year, I realized, rarely is a costume actually constructed to look like its origin of reference. It’s more like take the original outfit and subtract a few feet of fabric from it. With that strategy in mind, you can turn any respectable, modest character (ie. Snow White) into a decent—or in this case, indecent—Halloween costume. Booty shorts and corsets have the power to create the most ridiculous oxymoron, such as the sexy gangster, or the sexy barbarian. I once saw a girl sporting a full-on dominatrix costume: leather pants, fishnet tights and the three-inch heels. What threw me off was the white cross around her neck. Curious about this anomaly, yet ready to cease the whip that she was flicking in my direction, I asked her about the cross, and whether it was supposed to be an ironic statement. Confused and amused, she responded, “No, I’m a nun, duh. A slutty nun,” With the help of this clarification, I was able to walk away with a thorough understanding of her outfit. I can justify the appropriateness of her costume because, boys and girls, as long as its sexy, it’s a costume.
 
The “This is my Costume” guy.

To the people who waste twenty bucks on buying a cotton t-shirt flaunting the words,“This is my costume”:whydid you even bother coming out? In your attempts to mask your utter laziness and lack of creativity withsomething “funny,” you are disrespecting this sacred holiday. This is the one day of the year when kids can give into that pressing urge to take candy from strangers and dress up and make fun of that horrible fourth grademath teacher. Strategic plans are drawn up and arsenals assembled to gather enough candy to last the three hundred and sixty-five long days ahead until the next harvest of dextrose, gelatin and Yellow#5. Don’t be surprised to find your trick-or-treat bag filled with disappointing pieces of candy (like Candy Corn) that kids down the street especially prepared for you as they saw you approach their stoop in your plain attire. They aren’t going to waste the good chocolate on you.