September 12, 2008

Wanna see something really scary?

I do not like Halloween. I cannot stand horror movies, I'm such a princess about my sweet tooth and nobody gives out Godiva so I'm not excited about the candy, but most of all, I really hate getting dressed up.

But for real, I was traumatized. I know this isn't a singular memory because my two siblings also hate Halloween. (Although, they aren't princesses about the candy). I grew up in a small rural town, so instead of Trick or Treat, we had a party at the Town Hall the Saturday afternoon before Halloween. This meant EVERYONE at SCHOOL saw you dressed and it was BROAD DAYLIGHT.

Mama Fresh had a few rules regarding our costumes. (I've altered those rules for the Mini Freshes as an adult... my rule is simple, If I cannot buy it, you cannot be it.)

Commandment 1: Spend no money on something that will be worn a few hours.
Commandment 2: The point of Halloween is that nobody recognizes the costumed one. (this was an idea we grew to embrace, praying nobody would recognize us).
Commandment 3: Be creative.
Commandment 4: You cannot be a simple Charlie Brown ghost.

Armed with these rules, Mama Fresh set out to dress her children for Halloween. I particularly recall the year I learned to NEVER ASK TO BE ANYTHING SPECIFIC. That was the year I wanted to be Wonderwoman. All I remember is wearing a bra fashioned out of pot pie tins. What? Wonderwoman's breasts were shiny! C'mon, Fresh, you do TOO look like Wonderwoman. I think I also was wearing a red one piece swimsuit and white go-go boots. And a tinfoil headband.

Other memorable costumes included my brother as a witch (see Commandment 2)... nobody expected a boy to be a witch, especially him. My other brother one year was a felt flower in a flower pot. One year, I was a football player, wearing my dad's enormous old jersey and helmet. I think the jersey came to my ankles. Gender role switching was highly encouraged. My brothers and I argue who had the worst costume, but I'm convinced I win that award for life. (incidentally, we never DID win the costume prize at the town hall. Not so shocking, huh?)

It was the morning of the Halloween party. I knew better, but I didn't have a costume, and decided to say something to Mama. She glanced around the house and saw a pile of old antique flour and feed sacks, no doubt for some country craft. Ever the resourceful one, they were to become my costume. Long thin sacks on each arm, a large sack over my torso, and one over my head with two holes for eyes. I don't know if I looked like a mutant Pillsbury Dough Boy crossed with a KKK member or what. I arrived at the Town Hall, grateful my face was hidden to cover my crimson cheeks. But... they just had to play bobbing for apples, they just had to have refreshments. I had to take off my flour sack head.

The questions came at me rapid fire, "What are you, Fresh?"

All I could muster was, "I don't know."

This year, I've decided to get hair extensions and dress as Lady Godiva. If anyone were to receive Godiva chocolate, I think it would be her! I have to ask Mama for ideas. On second thought, maybe not. She may have me wearing cooked pasta noodles on my head.

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