I'm home with the Shadow and kids for a week and I think a little recap of Halloween is in order. Really, it is. Trust me. First, let's do a little run-down...
- Scream mask complete with a fake blood pump, check.
- Rotting corpse that lets you actually see the inside of a
hacker-dissected body, check.
- Semi form-fitting skull mask with matching scythe-blade of
death, check. - Slutty doctor, uh… technically, I suppose, check.
To be fair, those few outfits were probably the worst of the lot and they wouldn’t have even done justice to a haunted house or any party with limited expectation of a good time. However, it's also worth mentioning these costumes were seen at an elementary school Halloween parade for kindergarten and first grade students.
Yes, 5 and 6 year olds dressed up in mass slaughter gear. I think anthropologists hundreds of years from now will scratch their heads and just constantly mouth the words, ‘what the fu…?” I’m not against Halloween or dressing up or any of the rest (I mean, free candy – what’s not to like?) but where in our society did we entirely lose sight of what it means to be appropriate?
There were 5-year-olds who were visibly
frightened by a 6-year-old with red blood-like substance cascading down a pale
white mask. It’s hard to rally the princesses and fairies or even the witches
or superheroes when they’re staring at costumes of death and mayhem that belong at
the parties of much older people. It’s
like we’re witnessing the topic of the first three sessions of their future therapy.
And while it’s bad enough there were a few kids who
obviously have deep-seated psychological issues of their own – slutty doctor
presented a whole other world of inexplicable decision making.
How and in what universe does a grown woman wake up and say,
“I’m going to wear the studded collar, thigh-high stockings that kind of look
like black latex boots with red ribbons for ties; a tight red corset; the black
fuck-me pumps; and, I guess, because this event will be at an elementary
school, I’ll throw on a white lab coat for decency.”
Now, you may be saying, “Roe, you got an awfully good
description of slutty doctor…” and you’d be right, because it was a train-wreck
of phenomenal proportions. Shadow saw her and was cross and amused at the same
time. Kind of like the pissed-off sympathy you have for people on reality singing
shows who are obviously at the bottom of the cerebral food chain but who believe
their 8 tone-deaf friends are the ultimate arbiters of vocal talent.
You see, Slutty Doctor is merely a description of the
costume. The woman herself was afflicted by a deficiency of taste rivaled only
by mega-rich teenagers who buy opulent California palaces only to let them be decorated by graffiti
artists. Slutty doctor has also apparently lost the ability to distinguish the difference
between how something looks on a package model (a svelte sports car, 20-ish) and how
something will look on her (a meth-lab sofa, 50-ish).
While witnessing this act of ocular terrorism, Shadow shared
with me one of those English-isms that I adore. She stared at this woman and
just mumbled, “mutton dressed as lamb.”
For my money, that line was worth the entire spectacle and that is just going
to have to suffice because I didn’t get any photos. It was just too scary.
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