31 October 2019


I like an excuse

halloween costumes I have worn:

vagabond gypsy girl, age six, vague but extremely pleasant memory of large gold clip-on earrings

wonder woman, age seven, classic boxed costume from the drug store complete with plastic mask

chorus line dancer, age nine, only girl in the elementary school halloween parade wearing black patent stillettos

ballet dancer, age thirteen, thinly veiled excuse to wear pointe shoes out in public

belly dancer, age seventeen, thinly veiled excuse to bare my midriff

flower child, age eighteen, an entire costume built around the most spectacular pair of thrifted bell bottoms 

the cat in the hat, age twenty-one, with ward as a very literal interpretation of green eggs and ham

crazy mary, age twenty-three, wig worn a tad askew, crimson lipstick gone horribly awry

fifi from france, age twenty-six, yes there was a beret, yes there was a striped shirt, my deepest apologies to the french

sunflower, age twenty-eight, just, so much face paint, so much face paint

butterfly fairy, age thirty-four, requested by a four year-old ava

pink floyd, age thirty-seven, pink wig plus pink top plus pink bottoms plus a name tag with the name 'floyd' written on it

boom boom corrona, the roller derby queen, age thirty-eight, the pink costume from above but with bruises and roller skates

cotton candy, age thirty-nine, fifteen yards of pink tulle, a pink wig, a cardboard cone hat, voila

frida kahlo, age forty-two, never wanted to take that costume off, frankly