Seriously, if this was the number one costume in America (especially for lantern-jawed brunettes like myself) you wouldn't have guessed it for Aberdeen where, for the second year in a row that I have been here to notice, the most popular costume is the Scream mask. In fact, I may have heard one or two chortles at the obvious Palin costume all night, and I certainly got no comments on it. The Harbor people may think I intend to dress like a Realtor every day.
I know what you're thinking — why is an actual journalist going in a costume that could be considered partisan? Well, number one as I said, I have the lantern jaw, I had the hairspray and the jacket, this was inexpensive and easy, and number two, I was so hyped up, thinking, ooh, this will be like a Rorschach test, with people either thinking I was terrifying or, uh, you know, sexy since some folks now call Halloween, well, something else you can click to on your own, and part Palin's appeal is, apparently, her looks. But it didn't seem to matter because not many people seemed to realize the costume, as I said. Maybe my hair isn't high enough.
A quick note on high hair. It is said that in the South, they say "the higher the hair the closer to God." Well, I now know why. It is because to get your hair even this little bit poufed up you need to empty a lot of hairspray on it. I went to town. My bathroom filled with the reek of Suave hairspray, which is partly made up of alcohol, which evaporates, and which you breathe in. I am not one to equate a headrush with a religious experience, but some are, so more power to them. I also was overcome by the urge to have bigger hair. Bigger! BIGGER! Tall as the Eiffel Tower, tall as those big Malaysian towers, tall as Mt. Everest. Man has always had the urge to slip the surly bonds of earth, and if you can't get your license may as well let your hair do the soaring. So there I was in the bathroom, hotboxed by hairspray, and it seemed like a good idea. Go upward, my follicles! Achieve the dream of mankind!
So Halloween. I got three bags of candy, but Ray deduced those would not be sufficient and picked up another three bags. I'm not sure who had the more accurate estimate of candy consumption, because towards the end, I was pushing it on the kids. Have some diabetes on me, y'all.
You know the trick-or-treaters that I tolerate but think, "really, people, get it together" about? The adults with the babies who take candy for "them." I tolerate these people because if they have a baby then, well, why not allow them a simple indulgence of chocolatey goodness? They have merited it even if they're trying to disguise their intentions.
You know who I find confounding, though? The people who came to Ray's door wanting a treat for their baby. I was all, "Ha ha, yeah, 'the baby,' I know what that means, it's cool. Nobody gives itty bitty babies with pacifiers and bottles candy." And these folks were like, "No, he really loves candy. It's for him." So I take a look in the stroller — yeah, too young for a bag of candy. I believe in LOLspeak my expression would have been titled, "Parenting. UR doin it wrong."
I answered the door with the banjo in my hand for a couple of little princesses who demanded a tune, so I played a really bad rendition of "Pollywollydoodle." It is hard to play on the spot like that.
I was also a total goof in the gender department once this year, too (last year there was a gender-inobvious teenage guy, about which I felt kinda guilty. Puberty is so cruel). This year at least I totally insulted the mother of a kid too young to be made completely insecure by my total inability to tell that the tot with longish curly hair was not a girl. I said "she," or "her," like three times, and the mom was like, uh, "him." And after the last time, when I continued to doubt this kid's alleged gender, "HE'S A HE!!!" I was possibly the most obtuse Realtor on the block.
So my main duty was being nice to kids and making sure they didn't take more than their fair share. Which does not guarantee that I'll address those greedy kids in a necessarily developmentally-appropriate way. I didn't realize what a total meanie I was when I asked the Batman of the first grade trying to palm the whole bowl, "Uh, no, only one. Can you count?" (to my credit I had said, "Take one, no, just one," about three times. And am I seriously supposed to coddle other people's kids?) Until Ray imitated me.
Best accessory of the night went to a little girl dressed as a princess who had a dachsund puppy (!!!!) dressed up almost identically with a rhinestone collar and pink cape thingy. It made it hard for her to maneuver her stash bag and grab candy, but heck, I wouldn't want to put the puppeh down either.
Most dramatic entrance goes to the little toddler who fell down as I opened the door. She looked like Cindy Lou Who with her little mini pig ears. And she was completely frozen in shock and fear and overstimulation from the fall. I put her upright and she just gawped. So did the little pink leopard girl. I know, you go up to strangers and they give you candy. It IS insane and mind-blowing. (But, hey, word on the street is that the family at 8th and Broadway, with the faux graveyard, give out regular-sized candy bars, so prepare to have your mind blown more!)
Maybe next year I won't screw up any kids' gender identity. Maybe I won't be kind of a hard case to kids who are obviously kind of young and possibly dazzled by candy. No matter how old I get there is always room for improvement.
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