|We could pass for elementary schoolers, right? Wrong.|
I'll see your #ThrowBackThursday and raise you three 15-year-olds about to embark on a night of trick-or-treating.
Let's start with the costumes. We didn't even try to disguise our age. Smarter, more self-aware teenagers would have at least thrown on some masks, leaving the neighbours to assume they were just abnormally tall for their age. But no, we had our pride to think about. What kind of self-respecting person goes trick-or-treating in a plastic mask from Bartell's? Like we would ever do something so expected—so, as Nina Garcia would say, pedestrian. Yeah right.
I, always the drag king never the bride, was dressed as Harry Potter. I bought the wig and glasses, but the robe (Anna's graduation gown), tie (my Dad's), shirt (Max's?) and badge (old dish rag + sharpie marker + glue) were all from around the house. The first Harry Potter film was coming out a few weeks after Halloween, and I planned to attend the premiere as the 'Boy Who Lived' himself. Going as HP for Halloween just made good, economical sense. Two birds, one stone.
Centre stage is Erika, in a panda costume that my Mom had sewn several years earlier for Francie when she was in 4th grade. As is clear even in this grainy photo, the panda costume was far too small for Erika, the tallest of all my friends. I believe the white belly section was supposed to extend down past the knees like a dress, not end at the waist like a bizarre, wooly wifebeater. And I remember working up a sweat trying to squeeze the hood part over Erika's 15-year-old head.
Then there's Connie, the jar of Carmex. This was another one of Francie's old costumes (amazing costume decisions btw, Francie) and we managed to convince Connie that it was the perfect choice. "You know, because you love Carmex so much!!" "I do? Yeah, ok. Sure!"
After this photo was taken, I'm sure we ran straight to the Arrowhead Point neighbourhood where, as years' of experience had taught us, it's pretty much bowl city. You see, rich people go to rich people parties on Halloween. Time is money, and they don't have time to hand out fun-sized Snickers like commoners. Instead, they leave a bowl full of candy on the front porch with a note that says: "Happy Halloween! Take one or two." Take one or two. Yeah right.
Perhaps I should be embarrassed that I trick-or-treated past the socially-acceptable 6th grade mark. And I suppose I should be ashamed that I grabbed handfuls of candy from every bowl I came across. But I'm not! I look back on those years and all I can think is, "Get it, girl. You do your thang."
Because being a teenager is hard. Suddenly, you're not a kid anymore. One day you're adorable, the next day you're awkward. When it comes to emotions—sadness, fear, excitement, joy, etc.—you're expected to conduct yourself like an adult. But when it comes to freedom and responsibility, you're still completely beholden to your parents.
As a teenager, I was hyperaware of my low status in society. I totally got it. I knew that I wasn't young enough to be cute, I wasn't smart enough to be interesting, I wasn't witty enough to be charming, and I didn't even have enough life experience to be useful. I was just in this horrible age purgatory, somewhere between blissful childhood and respected adulthood.
In those transitional teenage years, you're continually confronted with things that are too young for you and things that are too old for you. You're either secretly watching 'Wishbone', the time-travelling Jack Russell Terrier, on TV in your basement, or you're at a friend's house watching 'Cruel Intentions' and feeling really uncomfortable. Other than the odd junior high dance, teenagers have nothing to claim as their own!
So, when I was faced with the choice of 1) going trick-or-treating with my friends or 2) staying at home and passing out candy with my parents, I made the decision to go with Option 1. Can you blame me?
P.S. Have you entered the #TurkeyHat giveaway yet? Do it before it's too late! I ordered the hat on Amazon today, and then I'll ship it out to the lucky winner.