Our jack-o-lantern has an accidentally cleft palate this year, and lots of unintentional, Mike Tyson-esque facial tattoos.
When I was a kid, my mother told me that there was an age at which children stopped dressing up for Halloween.*
What was this decidedly unmagical age? I don’t know, because lame though some of my costumes have been, I’ve dressed up every year and I’m doing it again this year. My husband and I did have some issues with our dreaded couple costume, but those issues have been resolved and I think we’ve come to a compromise that is neither sickening nor horrific. (Here’s a hint: Who would win in a fight?)
I love Halloween costumes and I plan to keep dressing up or the rest of my life, even if that means that someday I’ll have to bribe a nurse to replace my dentures with plastic vampire fangs for an hour, when the little kids come trick or treating at the rest home.
* I don’t know where Mom got that you-grow-out-of-Halloween thing. She dresses up every year too. Maybe she just didn’t want us going door to door as teens and scaring the bejesus out of the neighbors.
