“Oh man, look at that little red head.”
Holding Frankie and walking through the PX this weekend, two 20-year old dudes — who you wouldn’t imagine would notice a random baby, let alone said random baby’s hair color — settled it.
One, my kid is a ginger. She’s got hair like a new penny.
And two, once Ryan gets his first, already-claimed Halloween costume (he wants her to be a battery so he can hold onto her and have his costume light up in some kind of LED fashion) I get to pick one before she gets opinions. And I pick the only choice that clearly makes sense.
We’re going as Annie and Miss Hannigan.
Because if the Easter Bunny brought you a bright red Sony Walkman in 1983 complete with your first tape — the soundtrack to Annie — and in the same year you were given the book based on the movie all before you saw, owned, and learned every word to the entire film, it would be a cultural touchstone forever more.
“Everything’s urgent, to a Democrat.” “Don’t you think you could learn to like me? Hang me in your bathroom?” “She’s got it coming to her and I don’t mean a week in the lap of luxury.” And et ceteras.
The point is, um, Mom? We might need an Annie dress for a two-year old in about 16 months.
Petunia is wearing her St. Bernard costume this Halloween — because when packing up the liquor cabinet, one piece of sage advice leads to a brief craft-project collar-accessorizing photo shoot which leads to two cats getting new roles for an 8-hour car trip over the Alps…
Let’s just say we’re going to change their names from “Ping” and “Petunia” to “Midwife” and “Doula” for the journey.
Hope for the best, plan for the worst.
Elmo no like proper grammatical constructs, and he really no like when costumes of him keep boys a lot warmer than costumes of him for girls.
There’s a whole blog of these spooky discrepancies. Boys can be an astronaut, girls have to be a SEXAY STARGAZER.
Stupid. Scary stupid.
And yes, I say this as someone who has threatened for years to dress as “sexy Charles Nelson Reilly” but in my defense, that requires pants, a shirt, a permanent marker, and an ASCOT.
In related news, I’m going to watch the Elmo documentary this weekend. I can’t be sure, but I bet Kevin Clash doesn’t wear hot-pant jumpsuits to work.
Elmo (Sesame Street)
If the candy is already out (tiny boxes of Dots, check) then Halloween costume concepts are fair game.
Behold. If you put Prince Harry the Terrace Cat in a flower pot…
You get HARRY POTTER.
Yes. It’s likely I will only write about kitty puns from now on, you’ve been warned. He breaks my heart every day, this cat. His little face is right there, peering through the dark when I open the terrace shutters at 0500. Sometimes he watches us through the glass, sometimes he spooks off to wherever he hangs out during the day, but he’s always back at dinner time.
And, well.. I’ve started giving him wet cat food. Well! He didn’t really like the dry kind, and living on chewy treats surely can’t be good for him, so I just got him some, just to try. And would you know, he thinks that his life is the best life any kitty could have, ever, thanks to those packets of glop.
I know, the inside cats don’t even get wet food, but the inside cats also get a couch to sleep on all day.
I can’t help it. I’m into saving sweet creatures who need saving and also need “Poultry Multi-Pack with Gravy.”
Way. Like 1982 way. So, 30 years?
Halloween, the year of my fourth, was the first time I chose what I was going to dress up as. I had a very specific costume in mind. Page 4 of the storybook that accompanied my Sleeping Beauty 45 record.
MALEFICENT. Standing in orange and lime flames, looking majestic and scary. That’s what I wanted to be. Mom, who made all my doll clothes, including matching ensembles for me and my Cabbage Patches, made me a black cloak with carefully cut out felt flames all across the bottom and dyed-to-match-the-page purple tights.
I was on fire before The Hunger Games had even begun to fanfic.
The response from my adoring audience? “Oh, look! You’re a witch!”
“No. Not a witch,” I told them. “I’m MALEFICENT.”
I don’t know if we’re still worried about razor blades in the apples and evil popcorn balls, or if we’ve moved on in the PSAs of Halloween treats, but this warning cannot be given enough.
When out buying trick or treat loot, remember this: The original flavors, your original Skittles, Starbursts, those were chosen first for a reason.
Because they are the best.
Please, on this holiday, don’t spread your heinous “Tropical” and “Berry” and “Super Sour Thingamahoos!”
Think of the children. Give original.
Her “hat is always on crooked and her stockings never match.”
Hmm. I think all of my days have a hint of the Dorrie.
Happy Halloween Weekend’s Eve, little witches. May all your black cats be named Gink, and all of your visual pun costumes be understood and appreciated.
Her treat was so tricky…
“Is that even a thing? No one is going to get it.”
Don’t care. In fact, I care so little, I have a BLANK in my BLANK.
And we’re required to wear a costume “in good taste” for the fun run on Friday. (Okay, I think the quote was “conservative taste” and CNR is…n’t, but hey.)
Respect the ascot.
The doctor responsible for this Halloween costume is defending his license today.
In other news, this is how much this space is like a storage unit for my brain — I knew I’d decided and posted on my Halloween costume for this year, I just couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was.
OH YEAH! “Match Game.” God, it’s so ON.
(The Ernie in the background is freaking me out, dudes.)