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Attention all She’s;
As I’m sure you’ve been made well aware with any single trip to your local Walgreens or Netflix homepage, Halloween (or, as I like to call it, Dress Up Christmas) is upon us. There’s no debating that this is my absolute favorite time of year. I’m sure many of you would agree with me on that sentiment. You would say “Oh yes aren’t the leaves lovely these days” or “I just love cuddling up with some cider and a scary movie”, or God bless you “PUMPKIN SPICE IS BACK!”. Meanwhile I’m locked in my apartment painting my body with 38 shades of acrylic paint trying to figure out how to get my two foot headpiece to stay perfectly but not toooo perfectly balanced as I hum “Oh Happy Day”. What I’m getting at here is, and don’t think me too harsh, damn the leaves, damn those ridiculous Steven King wannabes, but most importantly, DAMN the pumpkin spice. Save it for another day friends. I remember a time when my father would be forced to spend weeks helping me create the perfect costume, and weeks more trying to get me to take it off. Have we forgotten the real meaning of Dress up Christmas?
The past couple of months, you can guarantee that if you’ve seen me gazing off into the distance, eyebrows slightly furrowed, lips quietly murmuring in audible ramblings, it’s because I’m masterminding the ultimate costume. Jaime will be coming up to spend this blessed holiday with me and I promise you that we will blow your minds, nay, your souls.
Get your butts in action ladies and gents! I don’t care if it’s last minute, I don’t care if you don’t have something epic in mind, if there’s one thing I hate more than Dress Up Christmas negligence, it’s excuses. Put on that knee length skirt and awkward sweater, stuff some Kleenex up your sleeve and transform into your Nana. Brush off those high waisted jeans, sensible heels, and polyester blouse and make your mother circa 1997 proud. Put on some boots, Gap jeans, a polo, part your hair to the side, put on some glasses, go around the town saving peoples lives and being all around kind and awesome and you’re all set with a Paul Frierson costume right there!! So don’t you look me in the eye and tell me you don’t “have a costume”, because if I go into your closet and see at least a single pair of cowgirl boots, old prom dress, or mom jean (I know what you’re hiding in there ladies) I will not hesitate to hack your Facebook and re-tag all those pictures your weird aunt posted of you from 5 Christmases ago. Do. Not. Test. Me.
All that being said, I hope you all have a blessed, sugar high, drunken Dress Up Christmas.