Dressing Up


It’s Halloween. If you’re a parent, you might enjoy dressing your kids up as something they’re not. It’s a harmless fantasy, fun for the kidlets. Some parents enjoy dressing themselves up as well to play along. Then, there are those other child-free adults who dress themselves to fantasize. I could never relate to it.

What are ladies who dress in sexy attire telling me? Are they fantasizing about being another woman? Are they saying, “I’m not very sexy and sexual, so this is what I could be but I’m not, and I don’t fucking know why?” Or, are they hiding their steamy desires and using this one day a year to let them show?

I don’t fucking get it.

I’m sexual. I have desires and fantasies. Yup. But, I’m not going to walk around in a gimp outfit or assless chaps. That would be freaky. Is that the point of Halloween? Fantasize about killing someone — dress like Freddy. Fantasize about being a pro athlete — wear a jersey and eye-black. Fantasize about bumping nasties in a public restroom — fishnets it is.

The best Halloween costume I have ever seen was on a white dude in Phoenix wearing a 70s NBA player uniform. He had a curly red wig and too-short shorts. The kicker was the 12-inch dildo he strapped to his leg, with its head peeking out of the bottom. It was perfect. Girls would look at him quizzically, assuming he put little effort into his garb, until their eyes made it down to his turtling schlong.

I have to tend bar tonight and most of the other workers are going to dress up. I won’t play along for various reasons, including the lack of any costumes and any desire to waste time dreaming up or assembling one. Guess I could let my cats lie on my black work shirt, then show up to work as the crazy cat-fur-coated guy who copes with love vacancy by stroking his felines.

If I had kids, I’d be horribly unfun.

“Daddy, we want to dress up as Ken and Barbie.”

“Aw, how sweet. I’ll give you two options. You can dress up like Ken and Barbie, and walk around imposing on neighbors while begging for candy. Those neighbors will say you’re cute and give you around twenty-five cents worth of suck-ass half-melted old candy — think malt balls. Or, we can get some grub at Buffalo Wild Wings and stop by Ralphs on the way home where I’ll buy two or three bags of the good stuff — Twix, Reese’s, etc. Then, instead of walking around in the cold, we can kill the lights, ignore the doorbell, sit on the couch, eat candy, and watch Jim Carrey movies. Daddy will also be a much more pleasant daddy because he will have three fingers of XO Cognac.”

“Can we get also a puppy?”

“Don’t push it.”

My kids would require some bribery to comply, but they’re fucking kids. I can negotiate with kids. Hmm. Maybe I should dress up as a daddy. Easy peasy. I have all I need, except the bills.

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About the author

Author of humorous essays about relationships and lifestyles.