Halloween is around the corner and this month zipped by in spectacularly fast fashion. With little time to spare, I wrangled the Prankster Duo, via a Venus Fly Trap snare, made them leave the head of one of Eerie’s zombies at home, and off we went to shop for costumes. As we emerged from the Swamp, the youngest pointed out the new signs wallpapering the Impenetrable Forest. Seems they’re in the midst of working on another deadly…I mean lovely, maze for this year’s celebration.
So we’re at the Aberzombie & Witch when my oldest informs me in funeral tones that this will be his last year of trick-or-treating.
Shocked, all I could manage was a garbled, “Uh?”
Ignoring my eloquence, he continued, “My friends and I discussed this, and this is it for us.”
“You make it sound like your impending demise looms upon the horizon, child. It’s Halloween!”
I never thought I’d get such a look from the fruit of my loins. (Loins, Eerie, not Looms!) From the Whipmistress? Hell yeah. Him? Not so much. “I don’t want to embarrass myself.”
Really? Okay, Mr. Daddy Long Legs…let’s think about this for a second. You’re a boy, a sweet one occasionally, but a pre-teen boy. Embarrassment is soon to be a way of life for you. My poor baby.
He added, “Besides, we’ll be in Junior High.”
Ahhh! I get it. As we leave the familiar halls of elementary school behind and begin to prepare for the hallowed journey to middle school, suddenly “coolness” factors into every decision. Then it’s on to those oh-so-torturous years of high school.
“Okay then. But you do realize that mom had no problem donning a wig, goth make-up and heeled boots for her writer’s conference a couple years back. Remember that?”
He does a damn good eye roll, “Yeah, mom, but you’re…a writer, you’re suppose to be crazy.”
See! My son is brilliant! As I glide through the pride of my son’s keen intellect, my youngest cuts in. “Mom, they don’t have any Minecraft pig costumes.”
Looking over the selection, I notice he’s absolutely correct. Nary a piece of bacon in sight. Unless you count the strangely compelling anatomically correct adult version hanging in the corner. I gently steer his young, impressionable mind elsewhere. “Okay, then, what’s your back-up plan?”
“Hmmm….” he studies the offerings with the seriousness of a heart surgeon. A few minutes later and a decision is made. I head to the counter, lay out the cash and we’re homeward bound.
Later that night as my knight-in-slightly-muddy armor starts to work on his daily shine-fest, the Duo drag out their costumes.
“Look, Dad? Like the whip?” For a kid who doesn’t want to trick-or-treat, my oldest hides his excitement fairly well.
“Nice, son,” my knight checks the workmanship. “So, Indiana Jones, uh?”
“Yeah, no mask required.”
They’re interrupted as my youngest taps my knight on his shoulder. “Check it out, Dad!” The voice is a little muffled behind the mask, but it gets a smile from my knight.
“Niccceeee…I see we stuck with our old stand-by, Star Wars!”
“Yeah, no Minecraft pigs.” Disappointment has our ARF Stormtrooper’s shoulder sagging. But only for a moment. “But it’s okay, this one has wickedly cool camo!”
As the Duo dart off to harangue the hell-hound, my knight turns to me. “Does he realize the camo is for snow covered landscapes?”
“Yep, but it’s camo and you know as well as I do, any camo is good camo, as far as he’s concerned.” From outside our well barricaded cabin, we hear another zombie cage-fight match start up. I sure wish the Swamp Thing would leave them alone. I double check the locks on the door and make sure the flamethrowers are set. “Besides, does it matter? It’s Halloween, and isn’t one of the best parts being able to dress up however we want?”
–Wicked
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