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 had a few rules regarding our costumes. (I've altered those rules for my own children ... 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 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 Wonder Woman. All I remember is wearing a bra fashioned out of pot pie tins. What? Wonder Woman's breasts were shiny! C'mon, you do too look like Wonder Woman. I also was wearing a red one-piece swimsuit, tall white go-go boots, and a tinfoil headband. And a crimson shade of natural red on my cheeks. 

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 argued about who had the worst costume, but I'm convinced I won 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 the horrified look on my face. 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?" 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.