Here’s my list of my favorite holidays in order:
2) Halloween–oh, already said that. St. Patrick’s Day
3) New Years
4) Hallowe–right, dammit. Um. Christmas, I guess. Closely tied with Thanksgiving.
5) THERE CAN ONLY BE ONE HALLOWEEN
My family has a long standing tradition of throwing bitching Halloween parties, and my mama raised me to never buy my costumes off the rack but instead make them so they’re especially awesome. Suck on that, Halloween section at Walmart. But I will take your bat-shaped hanging lights, thank you.
But what I DON’T love is this holiday trying to take over Halloween, called Whoraween. It’s really a drag. And not the fun kind of drag. I don’t go out on my favorite day of the year to see what fancy animal-themed underwear the other members of my gender are calling costumes. I’m just glad that we live in a region where it’s too cold to be entirely too outrageous, because my best friend lived in California for two years and said that she felt overdressed in her costume. She was a mummy. She wore white tube top and white underwear and wrapped herself in terrycloth. Poorly. It mostly fell off by the end of the night, and she still felt overdressed. That is not an exaggeration–I saw pictures. It’s like a Victoria’s Secret catalog only the poor girls aren’t getting paid to dress like that.
But, there’s nothing I can do about it, so…whatever. I just wish that they had picked a different holiday to ruin like that, like…I don’t know, the Fourth of July. Or have Ke$ha add more shows to her tour and let them go to that. Hell, in that case, I’d join them. But on Halloween…it gives my precious day a bad rep. Anyway, it’s out of my control, so I say power to girls who are comfortable enough with their bodies to dress like that, even if they look ridiculous walking down the streets of Livingston County in black lingerie and cat ears when it’s 40 degrees out. Both a kudos to your determination and a roflolz to your impractical dress choice.
Here’s why I could never celebrate Whoraween, among many reasons, mostly including my inability to function in heels and my low tolerance for uncomfortable clothes. I had a lab partner last year who was pretty much one of the nerds from Superbad but lacking in whacky adventures and not funny. I mean, Michael Cera is pretty much adorable and Jonah Hill is balls-out hilarious. And Fogle…well, he’s freakin’ Fogle. Come on. This kid had none of these, or any other discernible qualities working for him. He was smarter than me and willing to let me copy his labs, but he wasn’t that much smarter so I still didn’t pass the class any better than I would have without his help. But I try to be nice to everyone, and since Halloween was on it’s way, I asked him what his plans were. The rest of the conversation that I will shortly share (you lucky dog, you) creeped me out so badly that I forgot what he’d told me. When the conversation turned to my costume, I told him that I was debating between two ideas.
This is what he said, in what I’m sure he thought was a flirty voice but came out like the creepy uncle on a Lifetime movie: “Which one shows the most skin?”
I resisted the urge to call him a pervert and blow my rape whistle and calmly told him that I don’t wear costumes like that, hinting that his comment was totally inappropriate and giving him the opportunity to lie and say he was just kidding or apologize for being really creepy. Or even change the subject and pretend that horrible moment had never happened.
But instead he said this: “That’s too bad.”
And that, dear children, is why I don’t wear underwear on Halloween. Wait, that’s not what I meant…