The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

This whole Halloween thing has me a little riled up (internally).

Yesterday at the grocery store the clerk asked me if we were taking Elsie out for Halloween.

An innocent question—which had the potential to be answered with corresponding simplicity. Like ‘Yes!’ Or even ‘No!’ Or to elaborate just a wee bit, ‘Not this year.’ All definitive and excellent. Plus she might have wondered about ‘this year.’ What’s going on in her life this year? How interesting! Fascinating! (And thus I would have maintained a sense of mystique, allure even.)

But the problem with me: I feel so compelled to give an honest and detailed response to every question, explaining the ins and outs of my tangled mind.

ME: “Yeah, my husband and I aren’t very…what’s the word…fun? I don’t know. At her birthday everyone was waiting for us to put the cake in front of her and watch her put her face in the cake…but that just seemed messy…and Halloween feels a bit like—-”

That’s when I stopped ’cause I realized the clerk was SO not with me. She wasn’t even smiling and nodding. She was gawking. Yes. She. Was. She had clearly decided we were from some crazy cult where you’re not allowed to celebrate Halloween or laugh or put your face in an expensive sugar free carrot cake.

But the truth is we do like to celebrate…things. We are extremely celebratory. I mean, you probably don’t want us leading your pep rally (unless it’s an acting gig, in which case I’m yours and very on.) But we are fun.

So why did I say we weren’t?

Cyberspace counsellor? Life coach? I call.

And we aren’t taking her out—not because we’re against Halloween—but because we’re thinking about other things. Like, oh, maybe kicking a PhD in the ass once and for all. Which takes two. Two to four actually. We’re just coping! So extra festivities which involve creating cute dragon costumes: completely outside our line of vision.

Excuse me, I have to go buy a cute dragon costume.