After I had gotten over the obligatory witch, ghost, and fairy princess phase, I never again wanted to be something generic for Halloween. My costume needed to evoke praises of ingenuity, to solicit votes for "Most Creative" in middle school contests, to be put together rather than pulled from a bag. I couldn't settle for "pirate" or "vampire"--I had to be a calendar of October (and later repeat the sandwich board formula in my home-made Spongebob outfit), Pippi Longstocking, Elvis Presley, the angst-ridden and blue-haired beauty pageant contestant Miss Understood.
In my passive-aggressive high-school years I said to hell with it and threw on Deely Boppers.
As a junior I was far too cerebral in my ensemble and had to explain over and over again that no, my colorful tights and pigtailed hair did not make me a jester or an amateur clown—I was dressed as the antithesis of myself. Even the math teacher was befuddled.
This time around, I am stumped.
Halloween just ain't what it used to be, and I'm too modest to let it become what it could. I thought of buying the classiest pantsuit at Goodwill, fussing over my hair, and going door-to-door as Sarah Palin, but surely a better-looking upperclassman thought of that back in September. Maybe, four days before the most important election in recent memory, I'll return to the truly frightening—and be Apathy.
In the meantime, I await the Great Pumpkin.
