You guys. Are you aware of what special event is taking place in less than one week?
Yes, yes, you guessed it. I will be shaving my private parts.
No, wait, that's Tuesday nights. My mistake.
Next Monday night will be fun too, however, as it will be HALLOWEEN. The scariest night of the year.
I love Halloween. I even wrote about it on Cheesy Bloggers this week, and I hope all you halloweenies will write about it too.
The first Halloween I remember took place at 4 years of age. I was the Tooth Fairy. My mom's clever idea I suppose. I had a white tutu and a wand. And I insisted on leaving coins on neighbours' front porches.
Other years I went as an Indian (feathers, not dots - sorry that's rude), a clown, a baby. We used to sucker some lucky parent into driving us around in their minivan to help transport our multiple pillow cases STUFFED with candy. And these were the old days, folks - the days of can cola and mixed goodie bags. There were no effing fortune cookies and mini playdough cups back then. This was the real shit. The heavy shit.
I used to wake up early on the weekends and creep (very skillfully across the creaky hardwood floor) into the spare bedroom closet where the giant pillow cases were stored to collect a few handfuls of breakfast. I would carry it in the front of my nightie to the basement, watch tv, and stuff my face.
Until one morning Mom called my name. I came bounding up the stairs two at a time without thinking and looked up at mom... with nothing other than a blow pop sticking out of my face. "Gotcha" was the look on her face. "Oh. Shit." was the look on mine.
When I got to 9th grade I was AGHAST that Mom wouldn't let me trick-or-treat with my friends. She said I was too old. WAY TO RUIN MY LIFE, MOM. Instead I ate candy, watched The Simpsons Halloween specials, and handed out treats to little kids. Ever since then I've preferred the handing-out-candy part to the walking-around-in-the-cold part.
I still dress up though - at work. One year I was a terrifying zombie bride, and then Maryann on a 3-hour tour. Last year I followed the yellow brick road in some WICKED ruby red shoes.
I haven't decided this year, but I'm leaning toward garden gnome. Because if you know me, you know that garden gnomes are THE SCARIEST FUCKING THINGS THAT EVER HAPPENED.
Other than that I have no big plans. Maybe another pumpkin carving contest, of which Hubby will fiercely protest and then take tremendously seriously until he wins all the little kiddies' votes and gets to brag about it for years to come.
Welcome to my life.