a treat of a memory...
My trick-or-treat memories are centered in two arenas. First there was our little Wisconsin town called Big Bend and the also little house where my older brother liked to stand on the roof and hose off his unsuspecting friends. Then there is this image of my two babies, holding hands, clutching orange plastic pumpkins and running through the neighborhood as I tried to keep up.
Sometimes I would bring a shot glass with me and get a few treats myself and sometimes I would put on a ton of costume jewelrey, paint up myself, get my old American Tourister red luggage bag and pretend I was the Avon lady. But mostly, being a good reporter and all, I just watched.
Tonight I'll be watching again as I work at the wine lounge and watch the parade of adults running round town all dressed up like somebody else. I'm going to wear my cowboy boots and put a scarf over my latest skin cancer wound and maybe wear a cowboy hat too. That's about it.
Ironically my two babies, sort-of adults now, will be running around town and will come in to try and talk me out of a free glass of wine. I hope they have fun and don't get arrested.
This dressing up stuff has me realizing that I've never really wanted to be anyone else. I wanted to be prettier and not have acne in high school...and okay, I wanted boobs too. In college I just wanted more money so I didn't have to work full-time and go to school. I still want more money, the acne went away and those babies got me some boobs. It's seriously hard enough trying to be me and these days when I dress up it just means there is no elastic waistband.
But I still love watching other people have fun. And I get that sometimes it's really, really, really nice to pretend. Reality is often a pain in the ass, which is why I now only use the mirror downstairs that makes me look the thinest.
And truth be told, this afternoon for just an hour or so, I made believe I wasn't tired.