Costume-phobic

Costumes are the thing I love most about Halloween*. Inexplicably, most people have some sort of pathological hang-up about dressing in costumes on non-Halloween days of the year. 

I certainly don’t have any hang-ups about it, what with being a re-enactor, a frequenter of fairy conventions and renaissance fairs, and a generally eccentric dresser who prefers black and unnatural hair colors. Although usually self-conscious, I even sometimes get a kick out walking into the convenience store in full Revolutionary War soldier garb before or after an event and perusing the chips aisle and snagging a Diet Snapple. 

But man, other people. What is with them? What is with the neurosis and disdain for costumes? Take the rube I witnessed waddling through Halloween Adventure this year. Around her, the children's eyes were alight with possibilities! They skittered this way and that, delighted in the fact that, for one day of the year at least, they could be who they knew there were always meant to be: A ninja-witch. A vampiric Anne of Green Gables. An alien construction worker! 

And then there was the lady. The woman who, clearly, had no vitality left in her; her life essence depleted. This woman, lording over the group of tittering teenagers she was with, proclaimed loudly, in a voice sounding not unlike Droopy Dog, “Seems like a lot of work for one day.” Um, go back to perfecting that indent in your couch, lady. Let the creatives shine, will you? 

* I fib. I love everything about Halloween from the decorations, to the weather, to the candy, to the fact that it's the one day of the year on which you can roam your neighborhood at night and people think it's acceptable and that you're not strange or a creeper. 

Post Script:

I had another amusing encounter during this same trip to Halloween Adventure. I had snagged a half-priced foam wall hanging that looked like a stone cemetery-gate plaque from Dante's Inferno. A gargoyle extends its batwings, creating a gorgeous arch under which the words "Abandon all hope ye who enter here" are inscribed. 

The robotic cashier serving me was shaken out of his routine long enough to look at the item he was scanning and exclaim "Hey! This is pretty cool!" I have a habit of being too open with people, so I instinctively told him the plan I had formulated for it. "I plan to hang it over the bathroom door all year long." 

He looked at me blankly, reverted back to his robotic movements, and began to bag the item. About twenty seconds later, a smile exploded onto his face, he chuckled audibly, and said "Hey! That's funny!"