This blog post is also on the Fairlady site.
Halloween started off, back when it was called All Hallows Day, as something respectfully dire, dark and ominous.
It was the night when the border between this world and the spirit-filled Otherworld all but disappeared, allowing the shadowy spectres to visit Earth for just one night – the 31st of October.
Well, no more. Respectful fear is a thing of the past, and how I miss it so! I mean, not that I remember it – I was born in the eighties after all. Costumes aren’t even worn as disguises against sinister visitors from another world these days. Its like people have forgotten how to be deeply, deeply terrified of something they’ve never seen before. (I am shaking my head at the world.)
Instead of being the night the spirits break through the veil, Halloween has become the night that all the sluts come out to play. Like my friend Adèle said, “It’s the night that you’re supposed to be doing tricks, not turning tricks.”
|These aren’t the Disney Princesses I remember from my childhood…|
Now, while hoping earnestly that you’ve got a goldfish memory and have forgotten everything I wrote above, I must confess that I went as a dark, slutty angel to a Halloween party on Saturday.
I’m a lazy dresser-up, OK, and it’s pretty easy to put on a pair of wings, all black clothes (though stockings are a pain in the arse – no, not literally – OK, sometimes literally) and a shit-load of make-up. Mr Tall just laughed when I suggested he dress up too and said “No way man!” too many times for me to hope he was joking.
I phoned my brother and said that Mr Tall was playing hardball with the Halloween costume thing, and the most I could hope to do was to persuade him to wear some kind of head-gear thing later. Angus, in a stroke of brilliance, said, “Get him to wear a name badge with a different name on it, like Jim in The Office.”
So that’s exactly what I did. Mr Tall wore (for a brief but meaningful two seconds) a name badge that said ‘Hi! My name is Mike’ before we both tucked into the wine wholeheartedly (and, I must add, rather regrettably, for me anyway, the next day – wine hangovers are the worst).
Whatever. The really scary thing around Halloween doesn’t even actually happen on Halloween anyway.
The scariest thing is…
For some reason I don’t quite understand, men (in South Africa anyway) decided that November was the month to grow moustaches. I think it’s got something to do fact that they can add an ‘M’ to ‘November’ and feel very witty while stroking their face growth and laughing.
|The chieftan hat is supposed to go on TOP… oh, never mind|
I must say that I do NOT approve of moustaches. They’re not nice to look at, touch, or kiss (they’re really, really not), and facial hair generally reminds me of Mr Twit from The Twits by Roald Dahl. In that food gets stuck in it and that only bad men grow whiskers (Roald Dahl didn’t do much to help the Pro-Facial Hair Movement).
Before you think I’m biased, let me say that I also disapprove of whiskers on women.
I’m fair like that.
So anyway, enough about me. How are you? What did you dress up as for Halloween? And are you growing hair… erm… somewhere for Movember?
Let me know in the comment box below.