When I was a brand-new just-emerged-from-the-womb human, something horrible happened: my father went crazy. My father grew up in an all boys’ boarding school, then joined the military, then got married and fathered two sons. I threw a glorious wrench in his all-male upbringing and quite frankly, he wasn’t really sure what to do with me other than threaten anyone who came within five hundred yards.
I had a pretty sheltered childhood, obviously. There were no miniskirts, the no makeup ’til sixteen rule, and no 80s big hair, I’m sad to say. But I never really felt the pinch except at Halloween time.
From the beginning, I just kind of dressed like my brothers. I was a baby, what did I know? Eventually it became obvious to people in the community that I was actually a girl, so I got to masquerade as cute things like Holly Hobbie or Laura Ingalls or an Amish person. Eventually, though, I got tall enough to fight the Amish costumes, so my dad tried desperately to steer me towards anything that would create a full-body coverup costume.
He would work for weeks in his garage making me a robot costume that had working lights and beepy noises. One year I was a dragon, complete with hood and face mask, only the face mask breathed fire when my dad would hit the button on my wrist and flick a Zippo in front of the mouth part. No Mythbusters-style tactic was too over the top if it meant I would not be dressed as a slutty nurse that year.
The problem is, they don’t make costumes for slutty Holly Hobby or slutty Laura Ingalls or slutty Amish, although I bet I could make some money off an Amish dress with tear away Velcro tabs. I could market any of those outfits to strip clubs that are situated awfully close to farming communities.
Eventually I outgrew Halloween, and my dad breathed a sigh of relief. And as an adult I often dress up for trick-or-treating, but it’s usually a themed costume to match the kids; the sexiest costume I ever got to wear was when my daughter went as Hermione Granger and her sister went as the person Hermione turned into a frog…I got to be the crazy lady, Bellatrix. Nothing says sexy like teasing your hair and blacking out some of your teeth.
I haven’t really given any thought to a costume for this year, but for “slutty” to be the adjective in front of it I’m going to need to lose a few pounds, which is perfect: this year, slutty exercise fanatic, next year, the world.