When I was a kid, I didn't mind dressing up in ridiculous costumes at Halloween because it meant that we got to go around the neighborhood and collect candy. After an exciting afternoon of trick or treating, we would go back home and start dividing up the candy into categories. Apples, (people didn't put razor blades in them back then), popcorn balls, and anything remotely healthy, immediately went into the garbage. The most prized candies were the rare full sized candy bars, and those were quickly dispatched. As the days after Halloween wore on we would work our way through the chocolates, and into the bubble gums and licorice sticks, until we were down to the crappy hard candy. After all that sugar it's amazing I have any teeth left and I'm not diabetic.
When you get into your twenties, dressing up for Halloween has other rewards. You can go out totally incognito, get drunk, and hit on somebody that you wouldn't even come close to talking to if you weren't dressed up as the Hulk. As you grow older the allure of dressing up for Halloween wears thin. It's just a lot of work for very little reward, people don't even give you candy anymore. Mark still enjoys dressing up, so I humor him and tell him he looks fabulous. This year I told him to stick a mole on the side of his nose and go as Barack Obama.
One thing I won't do, and I won't allow, is for my dog to be dressed up in some kind of inane costume. Mark says he wants to dress Chandler up as a pit bull with lipstick, and despite my objections and strict orders not to, Mark went out and got a wig for Chandler. Chandler's self esteem was already dealt a blow last month when we had his balls removed, and the last thing he needs is to be paraded around town in drag. When Mark tried to put the wig on Chandler, he squirmed and fought it, but Mark persevered and finally got the wig on him. For a few seconds Chandler sat there, then in a brilliant move on his part, he pulled the thing off his head and ate it. So much for Marks idea of making Chandler a doggy drag queen.
When you get into your twenties, dressing up for Halloween has other rewards. You can go out totally incognito, get drunk, and hit on somebody that you wouldn't even come close to talking to if you weren't dressed up as the Hulk. As you grow older the allure of dressing up for Halloween wears thin. It's just a lot of work for very little reward, people don't even give you candy anymore. Mark still enjoys dressing up, so I humor him and tell him he looks fabulous. This year I told him to stick a mole on the side of his nose and go as Barack Obama.
One thing I won't do, and I won't allow, is for my dog to be dressed up in some kind of inane costume. Mark says he wants to dress Chandler up as a pit bull with lipstick, and despite my objections and strict orders not to, Mark went out and got a wig for Chandler. Chandler's self esteem was already dealt a blow last month when we had his balls removed, and the last thing he needs is to be paraded around town in drag. When Mark tried to put the wig on Chandler, he squirmed and fought it, but Mark persevered and finally got the wig on him. For a few seconds Chandler sat there, then in a brilliant move on his part, he pulled the thing off his head and ate it. So much for Marks idea of making Chandler a doggy drag queen.
Now you know all the drag queens are going to dress as Sarah Palin just so they can do the "Pagent Walk." hehe
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