No Thanks on the Pumpkin Latte

Ahhh. All Hallows Eve- one of my very favorite days, second only to the real deal. I’ll admit, Halloween brings out the curmudgeonly battle ax in me. I’ve never been particularly fond of the day. Surprising, since my mom really hated Halloween. The root of her aversion? Something about refined sugar, corn syrup and the rousing of evil spirits.

My reasons for hating the tacky celebration date back to October 1980. I was in Kindergarten at Woods Road School. As part of the festivities, the school presented a big glass jar filled with jelly beans. We ventured guesses. The prize? An enormous pumpkin with a spectacularly wondrous Halloween scene painted on it. Yep, I was the winner. Somehow I nailed the number. I get home with my giant pumpkin and set it proudly on the front porch. What’s not to love about Halloween?! Candy, costumes, trick-or-treat! On a Saturday no less. The next morning I’m fired up, I suit up to collect my candy, not even the rain can’t get me down. But the sight of my beautiful pumpkin prize smashed to a million pieces, guts and seeds and string and all, splattered all over the street, the rain, washing the painting down Camden Road can.

I know kid, dry your eyes. And, I did, but the following years weren’t much of an improvement. Every October 31st my brother and sisters and I feverishly collected candy, got home, laboriously divvied it up while shoving as much into our little mouths as possible. The next morning we were asked to select a few top choices and the rest was sent to the office with dad. (note to Mom: If you’re reading, I’m sure you’re feeling bad about now. I’ve 100 percent, for sure, worked this shit out in therapy. This is purely for the purposes of entertainment).

Without the help of a sewing machine costumes were tough. Average household items yield the following:

1. A Hobo (like we’d ever seen a hobo in 1980’s Central New Jersey)
2. A Flamenco dancing duck (Recycled dance recital costumes DO NOT COUNT)
3. A “baseball” player (my own Sergio Valente jeans, Jamie Machut’s Phillie’s cap, my brother’s baseball bat, and a white t-shirt, which I decorated with magic markers. There is a team called “The Hawks”, right?)
4. Punk rocker (Halloween ‘85. Greatest day of my 5th grade life.)
5. A lumber jack (The perfect costume for a high school senior who is WAY beyond wanting to dress up but needs to a party at Corey Sibal’s house on a school night. And who doesn’t look cute in a flannel shirt?)

You get the idea. In college, one year I was the third member of the teenage rap duo, Kris Kross. Another, I was recently informed, I went as a housewife in a Germinsky classic– a bathrobe and a broom. Fortunately, I was in a blackout.

Personal tragedy aside, Halloween is just a hyped-up excuse to get wasted and be slutty. Do we really need costumes for that? I’m not saying I’m above it. One year I was a sexy pregnant battered wife. See, it is a classless holiday. All I’m saying is, it’s gotten out of hand. I get it- the slutty nurse, the slutty parole officer, slutty Sandy from Grease (Hello? Who wouldn’t want to look like she does on the Shake Shack?). There’s the so obvious it might be original again sexy French maid, sexy Sarah Palin, not just in her government-issued business suit or Miss Alaska sash, but in camo hot pants toting an AK 47. Hey, and I love a slutty cab driver and give me a sexy pirate, but I draw the line at sexy bumble bee? A sexy bumble bee?! Has it really come to that? Could we please leave the bees for the children? Frankly, I can’t decide which is worse. Horny bee girl or a middle-aged overweight woman in a homemade bee costume made of black tights (unfortunately not really opaque), a black turtleneck with yellow construction paper stripes, and a headband with bobbling pipecleaners walking to her office down 57th street. Let’s just agree that if no one is monitoring your candy or booze intake these days, there’s really no good reason for you to be in costume.