So last year my daughter brings home a Halloween party invitation – for adults and kids. It boasts games, movies, and treats. Adults are also required to dress up – there are prizes for best costume, elaborate games, food, palm readings, sketch artist – you name it. I was a little intimidated and intrigued at the same time. Halloween is definitely my thing, so even though I don’t know a soul (including the host), I’m up for the challenge.
So I dig out the costume box. I sport a long, black wig, sorceress cape, long gown, purple lipstick, and other spooky make up. The costume is no competition from my 1992 Dead Prom Queen with the hatchet in her neck, but it will do. We bake a very cool graveyard brownie dessert. And we GO!
We arrive. Adults and kids galore and, well........I am the MOST dressed up adult. Possibly the most dressed up PERSON. The host is a witch and oohs and aahs over my costume, which she labels as witch. I think, thankfully I don’t know anyone here because when I bump into any of these people at a future event, they will have no idea who I am.
So I attempt to mingle - to no avail. Wives are clutching their husbands and giving the “do not talk to that person, honey” look. A few people nod politely, then impolitely turn the other way. Honestly, I wasn't that scary. Does my being single and the most dressed up make me seem on the prowl? Maybe... if I was dressed as one of the Slutz or a trampy devil. But ghoulish scary person with her cute Dorothy and Toto clad daughter? Not thinking I’m a big threat to Mrs. Put-On-a-Cat-Headband.
So the host wanders over and we chat a bit, at which point she explains how her 5-year old handed out all the invitations willy-nilly. “She wasn’t supposed to give them to everyone – just the soccer team!”
Soccer Mom I am not. So not only am I the most dressed up, but I’m NOT EVEN REALLY INVITED! The host didn't think it was weird that she told me what she did, so I blew it off for the moment. My daughter was having fun, so I decide to stick out the party a little longer. A glass of wine might have hit the spot at this point, but it was a dry party. Strike Three.
At the end of the night (which in reality was only about an hour later), I was hot and my fake hair was getting in the dip, so I took off my wig. At this point, the host freaked out. She couldn’t deal with me not being a brunette. She even asked me to put it back on.
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For the rest of the year, whenever I see the Halloween Hostess, she mildly freaks that I don't have long dark hair with a white stripe. I’m like her personal ghost or something. And she oddly seems to like me.
This year, I get a REAL invitation to the party (the envelope was addressed to my daughter and The Witch). I showed up as a gypsy. With a long BLONDE wig (yes, to make a point). Everyone, I mean everyone was DRESSED UP this year. And I won a soccer ball prize for best costume.