We are going to a Halloween dance this year. This means dressing up in Halloween costumes, something I haven’t done for years.
The last time I suited up for Halloween was at a house party in London, Ont. Remarkably, my wife convinced a bona fide Catholic priest to lend me his vestments, including a jolly little biretta and a clerical collar (which, to my surprise, was not cloth but white rubber).
During the party, in an over-refreshed state, I spilled a large quantity of red wine over the front of my gown. Fortunately the garment was black. And, once dry-cleaned, good as new.
Because the soirée was extremely loud (this was during my university years), neighbours summoned the police. I recall my classmate, Kevin Noel, greeting constables in his homemade Nazi uniform. I followed him down the front steps, declaring: “Don’t worry, officers — I’m a priest!”
The wine mishap followed some minutes later.
My experiences with costumes have been mixed. As a child, I wore my Yankee soldier outfit (a Halloween costume) until it fell to pieces. Another kid, perhaps unschooled in Civil War history, asked why I kept wearing a boy scout’s uniform.
In Grade 8 I joined the school basketball team. For me, the main appeal was the attractive grey and burgundy uniforms (or costumes, as I thought of them), as my ability to shoot baskets and dribble was non-existent.
My biggest costume disaster occurred while attending what’s now Vancouver Island University, then Malaspina College.
My college days were already tainted by an unfortunate encounter with a fetal pig. We each received one to dissect in biology class. I became so disenchanted with said rubbery thing, smelling of formaldehyde, its mouth downturned in a perpetual state of suspended disanimation, that I heaved it into the wastebasket.
This all came to roost during the final exam, almost entirely about the fetal pig and its mysterious inner workings. My biology grade was a D which, remarkably, still meant a full credit for the last science course I ever took.
Around this time, some of us attended a Halloween dance at the college. I had no costume, but my brother came up with a solution. He told me his friend owned a wonderful homemade carrot outfit that was practically the best Halloween costume one could imagine.
My brother asked if this costume could be borrowed. And sure enough, the day before the dance, he presented the much-anticipated carrot garb to me.
It was not quite as advertised. For starters, the costume — consisting of a triangular orange sheath and a green cloth crown — seemed to be designed for a very tiny person.
To fill it out, so that one might assume the correct carroty shape, it had to be stuffed with newspapers. Due to some fundamental defect in the design, the pointy part stuck horizontally from between my legs, making it appear as if I’d achieved a curious state of vegetative excitement.
It just wouldn’t do — unless one wanted to risk getting arrested on obscenity charges. A friend of my parents, a teacher, lent me his life-like rubber mask of a hideous old man. Covering one’s entire head, it was so terrifically hot I almost fainted on the dance floor.
For the upcoming dance, I may suggest to my wife that she dress as sexy food. Apparently, this year’s hot trend in Halloween costumes is sexy food wear.
One website notes there are lots of sexy french fry and sexy pineapple costumes for sale online. Most are tight-fitting and require fishnet stockings. Another trend: the bear dress outfit Miley Cyrus sported during one of her twerking appearances. Yet another hot Halloween style: the yellow meth-lab overalls and goggles outfits Walter and Jesse wore on Breaking Bad.
This Halloween I plan to play it safe. Maybe wear a funny hat. At least there will be no danger of arrest.
