No, it isn't a typo. I'm just really not a fan of Halloween, especially on a weekend. To me Halloween has always been about kids and couples, I don't have one, and I'm not part of one. Nuff said.
I can remember the last time I dressed up for Halloween. I believe I was in grade 12. There was a big party at the local Rec Center. I didn't want to go, but all my friends were hell bent on it, and one of our friends brothers had picked us up a bunch of beer.
I finally agreed to go but didn't have anything to wear. I rummaged around the house and managed to find one of my old football jerseys and one of my mothers wigs from the '70's. I really don't know what my inspiration was, but I donned the jersey, grabbed a tub of my dad's black shoe polish and went nuts. My mom's wig was brownish-blond, I covered it in the shoe polish as well as my face and arms. It was freaking ridiculous. What was I? A Rastafarian football player??
No matter, I was able to dodge my parents on the way out so they didn't see me (we hadn't been getting along anyhow). My buddies picked me up and we were on our way. That night I drank like only a teenager can. I was an absolute mess, through a lamp shade on him, life of the party. I don't even really remember much, just the blanks that were unkindly filled in for me later.
My curfew was 10:30 ( I know, again ridiculous), the boys said they dropped me off around 1 am. Turns out my clever father had decided to install a new lock on the front door in an attempt to keep me out of the house. I cracked my wallet and whipped out my drivers license and was in the house in a matter of seconds. Looking back now, I wish they had woken up. As you can imagine, I used everything I had left to get the door open. As soon as I was in I hit the floor. This is now the time to tell you about the new white carpets my parents had installed through the house. I literally had to crawl up the stairs, resting my head on each step before another pull. I finally reached the second floor and pulled myself across the carpet into my room where I scaled my bed like Sir Edmund conquering Everest. Never took my clothes off or the wig for that matter.
My first recollection was getting a shot to my jaw first thing the next morning. Turns out my folks had found my black swath through the house (a most unremovable swath I might add). I sat up in bed, the shoe polish made the pillow stick to my face which didn't help, it just added to the appearance of me still being drunk. Although I did sense the smallest smile in the corner of my mom's mouth.
That was grounding number 272 as I recall. And Halloween never really seemed the same after. I now know where the phrase painful memories comes from, as I get this pain in my jaw every Halloween like an arthritic waiting for rain.
So the couples and kids can have it. I will stick to my routine....whatever that means.
No comments:
Post a Comment