The Tumbleweeds will not be home for Halloween this year.
(If you are a burglar reading this then you should be aware that I don’t always tell the truth and maybe we will be home. With weapons and booby-traps. Happy Halloween.)
We will miss all the little creatures knocking on the door and begging for candy, trying to guess what some of them are.
“Oh, what a cute little hooker you are.”
“I’m a Princess!”
The year I got a King Kong Halloween costume, was my favorite Halloween. I must have been 9 or 10, a few years after the 1976 remake of the movie King Kong. The costume came from K-Mart, our go to store for everything, clothes included (nerd alert), and fit my Halloween Costume criteria: it had to be scary and it could not be girly.
|Thanks to Cool and Collected for the|
picture of the coolest costume
It was one of those cheap-o costumes; hard plastic mask that fit over your head with a string that always popped off after 10 minutes. A thin, rubbery shirt with King Kong painted on, grabbing planes out of the air amidst lots of flames. I was gonna scare the bejesus out of those sissy ballerinas and ghosts! The whole neighborhood would be talking about me for weeks!
I was a hard headed child determined to do things my way, overly macho for a girl, and vehemently against looking weak. So when my mom suggested I carry a Barbie doll, so it would like King Kong's girlfriend, I rolled my eyes and scoffed at the mere suggestion.
Mom: But it’s a great idea. You would look just like King Kong in the movie. Remember when he held Jessica Lange in the palm of his hand and blew her hair dry with his breath?
Me: What if people think I play with Barbies?!
Mom: You do.
Me: Well I don’t want anyone to know that!
Mom: But it would really be cute. That costume doesn’t even look like King Kong, people might think you’re just a gorilla.
Me: I don’t want to be cute or blow dry anyone's hair! No one is ever going to be scared of me if I’m walking around with a Barbie doll, sheesh. You don’t know anything!
In my stubborn little heart I knew she was right, it would look cool (not cute!) and if I did have to defend myself from any taunts that I played with a Barbie, I could just beat them up. A win-win in the scary department.
In the end though, I just couldn’t do it. I had declared war against my mother and I wouldn’t back down.
The mask broke after two houses and I had to hold it up to my face, the rubber shirt was hot and you couldn’t see the graphics in the dark, and more than one person had to ask what I was. But in my mind I was the airplane destroying monster that everyone feared.
Here's to Halloween and the delusions of childhood.