I love Halloween yet I can’t remember the last time I got all dressed up for the occasion unless of course appearing both dishevelled and discombobulated while medicating a self- induced migraine from ingesting mass quantities of coffee crisps, crispy crunch and smarties counts. That’s freaking scary. Just ask my kids. It was years before they realized Halloween was an annual event and totally unrelated to the monthly celebration of PMS. Yes during those periods (meaning moments in time) I was transformed; still the same person simply neurotic. Yes, I was sane but unhappy about it. It was flattering however to be thought of as an option for their choice of really scary costume –mommie dearest. Imitation is after all, the highest form of flattery.
These days however Halloween marks the only night of the year and my annual excuse for looking like Bridget Jones pre Mark Darcy. While she may choose vodka and Chaka Kahn I instead prefer chardonnay and the Sex Pistols. But unlike Bridget, and while we’re at it, for the record, I have never woken up in bed with a headache, hangover and my boss. Not that I can remember anyway. Other than that the resemblance is uncanny.
So let this be a warning to you all. Should you happen to knock at my door this Hallows Eve be prepared to see something really scary. And no it’s not my living quarters although I’ll try and clean up the mess to avoid any confusion.
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