Four Things That Happen When You Dress Up Early for Halloween
By Cazey Williams I know readers have been refreshing their email to see what I'll be this Halloween ever since I wrote about my memorable costumes.
So I guess I'll tell you: I'm going to be a skeleton. "A glam skeleton" according to the tutorial.
Yes, those are females, but I think we can agree that skulls are pretty androgynous. I just won't wear the leggings.
All in all, this costume cost me $20 in makeup – which I think is the scariest part. There was a moment in Target when I debated whether to spend an Andrew Jackson for one night’s play or if I should get another car wash.
Anyway, after my purchases, I decided to practice. Here is what I looked like:
This is what followed:
My mom texted: “I don t like . too scary.” And then “u look too thin. Are u eating.”
Don’t you like how I captured her vernacular? So Baby Boomer.
Anyway, I was proud of my handiwork (yes, I did it myself – with the assistance of my roommate, because me: “How do I put on eye shadow?”), so I sent my mom a pic. And my mom, a former Sunday school teacher, responds that I look “too scary.” Sorta what I’m going for? But I should have expected this. In seventh grade, when I read “The Exorcist” and was obsessed with cryptids like Sasquatch (omg, my worst nightmare) and the Mothman, she bought me some religious texts and instructed me to read “happier things.”
On the subject of am I too thin? Well, if you want to toss a few toward my grocery budget. (But thanks for complimenting the drawn on neck bones!)
You meet your upstairs neighbor.
After submerging my pores in chalk and paint, I had to show it off, so I decided to walk to my friend’s. Except as I’m going out the door, I run into my neighbor. I live in a duplex, so our doors are side-by-side. Neighbor moved in two months ago, and I don’t even know his name other than what’s on his mail, and I can’t even remember that.
We’re going out the door at the same time, and then we pause to stare at each other. I wouldn’t have paused except he’s locked to my face, and I’m thinking, “What is he looking at?” Because you remember how you would forget you have face paint on after a carnival in elementary school until you saw yourself in the bathroom mirror? Yeah, I forgot. (Why can’t we forget when we have zits on our face?) And other than my face, it didn’t look like I’m rearing for a party or something. I’m in flipflops and sweats. I’m your Goth neighbor.
Finally, Neighbor says, “You look good.” And we moved away from our doors.
Your grandmother comments on your photo: “How could someone I know and love change so much????”
This is another one of those generational gap things. On my walk to my friend’s, I obviously had to Facebook (and Instagram) my getup. So I’m checking my notifications, and my adoptive grandmother – aka my elderly neighbor from my childhood – has commented on my photo.
How am I supposed to respond to that? Did we need four question marks? Such a millennial move, that excessive punctuation.
And then I’m mulling, Do I comment back and graffiti my Facebook post (which grandma has already graffiti’d, mind you), or do I ignore her? But poor woman, she thinks I’ve sold my soul to Satan. I decide I’ll comment back in six hours after my post has its heyday without adding to the graffiti unnecessarily. (Does anyone else ever have these thoughts? No one?)
Someone asks, “Have you seen my missing black cat?”
Still en route to my friend’s (I know, will I ever make it?), these two women stop me. They don’t even flinch that I’m wearing skull makeup.
“Excuse me, have you seen a black cat? He’s missing.”
Despite being an extrovert, I don’t do well with unexpected communication when brooding how to respond to Facebook comments, so I just gawk at them. Pursed lips, too. Gotta show those painted on teeth.
They hand me a flyer.
“What’s his name?” I say.
I don’t remember his name, so I won’t make it up for this blog, but they tell me he’s just a year old cat, and I keep staring at them. I’m not a narcissist, but are we not going to address I look like a skeleton? (Or do I not? Does my makeup suck?)
No, let’s talk about your black cat that’s missing five days from Halloween. I can’t imagine where it’s gone. I probably look like the freak who took it. Yes, let me help you find it. (I would expand on this tangent, but I don’t want to appear insensitive. I really do like animals.)
Anyway, it was a weird night.
