Witchy Woman

Growing up, my mother taught me that certain things were not appropriate that others find odd. For example, I was taught never to eat in front of someone who isn't eating, because for all you know they are hungry and don't have the money to eat and are too polite to say so. I was taught that when you spend the night at a friend's house, it looks bad if you are still asleep when everyone else in the house has woken up. I was taught to never, ever take second helpings even if there is plenty of food and seconds have been offered to you, lest someone think you are selfish or a pig. I was taught that since Thanksgiving is a holiday reserved for turkey, Christmas should be celebrated with a large ham.

Now, most of these things I agree with and still adhere to unless around very, very close friends. But there is one thing my mother tried to instill in my head that I still can't wrap around. "Halloween is about horror," Mom would say. "Costumes should be scary."

I tried in vein to be a princess, a ballerina, an Indian, a cheerleader. Halloween, I argued, was about fantasy and being anything you want. But no.

"What about a wearwolf?" I would try.

Mom would scrunch up her nose before saying tentatively, "That's more of a boy's costume. You're a girl."

And how many macabre costumes are there for little girls? Well, little girls whose parents live on fixed incomes in the 1990s? Or even better, how about little girls whose parents had very little imagination and were on fixed incomes in the 1990s? I will sum it up for you very simply.

When I was five, I was a witch. When I was six, seven, and eight, I was a witch. When I was nine, I used the same black costume and bought plastic fangs and was a vampiress. When I was ten, I was a witch. When I was eleven, I was a vampiress again. When I was twelve, I refused to go trick-or-treating, insisting I was too old.

This year, I decided to buy a costume. I found a Little Red Riding Hood costume I adore (especially since it's a pun on my name). There's a miniskirt and a corset involved. I showed the picture to my mom.

"It's awfully... slutty," Mom said.

I patiently explained to her that I was comfortable in my body enough to really wear something a little revealing, and as I was 21, I felt it was fine. She paused, taking that in. Then she looked at me, and in her classic whine stated, "But it's not scary."

No, Mom, it's not.

Maybe its the actor that's deep down inside me, but I still feel Halloween is about fantasy. And this year, I'm living out the fantasy for the little girl inside me who wanted to be Cinderella so bad she couldn't stand it.