The costume I wore to my first Halloween party was carefully considered. I spent close to an hour trying to decide. The way I saw it, this was one night a year, and in the four hours that I could possibly be seen, I had to make a good impression. Especially if Skyler or Max or Josh, or any of the boys of the week who caught my hormonal eyes were going to be there. I knew that this would be the costume that would make me stand out. It was just flashy enough without creating a scene. All the other girls were going to be jealous when all the boys were looking at me.
I was a clown for Halloween that year.
A sexy clown? You might ask. Well, no. Not a sexy clown – unless the blue pom-poms on the front of the costume had an innuendo attached to them that I wasn’t aware of – No, I wasn’t a sexy clown. I was just a run-of-the-mill clown with full make-up and wig (a wig that I made sure matched the blues in my costume, so that I wouldn’t clash).
Sadly, this was the same year that most other girls caught on to the sexy costume trend. Or, at least, the earliest version of that. This means, mainly, that one or two girls wore fishnets, and another few had something leather on their person – we were far from the costumes that strippers consider appropriate workwear.
Still, my clown outfit hardly got me noticed by the boys. If it got me noticed, it was hardly for the reasons I wanted to be noticed for – such as tripping some boy with my giant, blue-rubber shoes. And as the night wore on, I felt worse about myself. I wanted to grab a pair of scissors and make this suit into a mini-skirt at the very least. But, the thing is, even if I had the crafting abilities to fulfill those mini-skirt urges, I would never have followed through. A part of me knew that I didn’t want to be that sort of girl, even if it was pretend.
A small part of me, even if I didn’t know it then, didn’t want to be noticed by boys because of a lack of clothing. It’s like a self-preservation instinct helped me from ever allowing myself to venture down that skanky, Halloween road.
I cried that night in the bathroom. I watched as my makeup mixed with my tears in the sink of the bathroom before disappearing down the drain taking whatever hopes I had with it. But, looking back, I’m proud of myself for not giving in to those societal pressures to moonlight once a year as a sexy nurse – not even in the next few years, when so many of my classmates were, in fact, sexy nurses.
And though my actions might have kept me single, I can still proudly state, that I have never once been confused as a prostitute on Halloween night.
Oh, and don’t forget to have a
H A P P Y H A L L O W E E N!