I always pull together my Halloween costume at the last minute. No matter how much thought I put into it the entire month of October, the perfect costume never comes to me until I'm on my way out the door to celebrate with slutty cats and French maids. Last night was no exception. I arrived home at 8 with the vague idea of dressing up as VMA Britney, but needed to leave by 8:30 and didn't have time to buy a wig and my silver bikini was no where to be found. I thought about what I could utilize (my red hair) and took an inventory of the clothes I haven't yet packed for my move (very few). What I came up with was a pretty-dam-good-if-I-do-say-so-myself Pippi Longstocking.
I can't take credit for this industrious Halloweening of mine. I owe it to my father. My parents divorced when I was three, and my mother never celebrated Halloween because her crazy religion didn't allow it. Dad arrived one year realizing we didn't have costumes and not wanting to endure the picked through pink plastic princesses and black wigs of K-Mart. He did, however, have a few sheets in his car--a pale blue sheet and a Budweiser sheet (maybe he'd just done laundry? or he knew we weren't going to be dressed up?). A few holes and a piece or two of string later, my sister Jo and I were instantly transformed into ghosts. I don't remember which one of us actually ended up as the Budweiser ghost; I know neither of us wanted to be, and we fought about it. I also know my dad felt bad, but what I wouldn't give to be the Budweiser ghost now.