Well, Terry, I was just about to commence with this SLIGHTLY belated post about my second Halloween costume when I noticed SOMEBODY was already bitching about the delay. I do have things to DO, you know (everyone please keep their inevitable snickering very quiet).

Just yesterday I tried to locate something in my room. Wait – first I read The End. Yes, it took me a long time to acquire it, but it was worth the wait. I admit, I’ve had a hard time settling my mind down enough to read recently (and for a while…), and this is perfect fare for such a predicament.

Back to my room – ugh. Well, I couldn’t have read a more suitable book, because as all scholars of A Series of Unfortunate Events know, especially if they’ve mastered The Complete Wreck (Emma, I would assert, has graduated this endeavor summa cum laude), The End, like my room, is COMPLETELY full of detritus (I’m not talking about the text ITSELF – rather, “detritus” is an important subject in the story). I found myself rifling through the heaps and piles of this and that thinking (and occasionally musing aloud to myself or SHOUTING to the Universe), “Detritus,” “Detritus,” “AAAAAAAAAHHHH – DEAD SPIDER PARTS,” “Detritus,” “OOHHH – I wondered where that was,” and, naturally, “DETRITUS!!!

Never mind. Back to Halloween?

I was going to open with a reference such as this:

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day
To the last syllable of recorded time,
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death.

Now I don’t feel like it. And I’m not going to say which play it’s from, especially since I only got it right on the second try.

OKAY – I’ve been tetchy enough, let me get to the point (there’s nothing at all amusing that anyone can find to say about the irony of my tangential, divergent and CRAZY “writing style,” so don’t even try).

Ah, Halloween 2006. It was a lovely autumn day; there was a slight nip in the air, and the smell of …. oh – screw it. I spent most of the day reeking of non-staining Ultra Tiger Balm (please remember that it is not made of tigers or tiger parts; it says so right on the packaging). It LOOKED nice outside. Let’s just leave it at that. However, it was downright CHILLY when I was standing behind the door in an ugly pink towel that provided VERY questionable coverage.

The aforementioned shower did afford my back and neck some temporary relief, so I donned my PLANNED 2006 Halloween costume. And here is what I was emulating:
ALMOST a striking resemblance.


I must assert right this very moment that the only reason that I could use the “Crazy Cat Lady” as a costume is that I am NOT A CRAZY CAT LADY. I successfully passed the very scientific and definitive “Are you a Crazy Cat Lady?” test from Archie McPhee®, and I further summarized the arguments that supported those test results in a previous entry. Enough said.

So, I had the plaid:
Plaid Flannel PJ Bottoms

I also had the dark shirt, the robe, the scuff-style slippers, the headband and the CRAZY hair. I created the pallor (OKAY – so I accentuated my own pastiness with makeup). I even used dark eye shadow to create the dark eye circles and to emphasize my “eye luggage.”

Then there were the cats. I hadn’t arranged far enough ahead to acquire real and/or stuffed cats from Sarah, William and Shirleen. I found two plush kitties, and I presumed my Kitten Children would be excellent props. I figured that I could say that all the other cats were hiding – plausible, I thought – if anyone asked. “If anyone asked, “- HAH!

Here is one of the “faux” kitties. They were well-behaved – PERFECTLY obliging and cooperative. Here’s the first:
He has a SLIGHT weight problem.

I Call Him Boboli (because Julianne would like it…)

Here is the second – my “Pocket Kitten”:
Awwww - so wee and cute.

I Call Her Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantisiliogogogoch
(You know, after that Welsh town)

Then there were MY Kitten Children. I brought food and water, their favourite toys, Kitty treats – a veritable Kitty orgy of fun things – into the living room. I should explain that the Kitten Children aren’t usually allowed in the living room. BeBe tries, regularly, to sneak into the room while people open and close the door, as she seems to have an unnatural obsession with the high-backed green chairs in there; they are like Kitty cocaine – she is addicted and cannot help herself – she wants to scratch the hell out of them. Fiona is MUCH more reticent about the sneaking in. She has observed BeBe being thrown out of there far too many times, I suppose.

So I left the door open, and sweetly beckoned to them to enter. They were incredibly suspicious. BeBe came in first, ever-so tentatively. After a bit, Fiona very timidly followed. This is the sort of thing they initially did:
BeBe under a cocaine chair.
Fiona opted for the ottoman.

When the doorbell rang, my plan was to pick up BeBe and “accessorize” with her. I reckoned that not only would this enhance the authenticity of my costume (see the picture above – the one upon which I modeled my outfit), but it would prevent her from running out the door, going to the very first patch of grass she saw, and gob
bling up huge chunks of the stuff, which she would then vomit up not long after. Yum.

The doorbell rang, and I answered as per my plan. The three boys on the porch did not seem to be impressed AT ALL with my ensemble. Besides, I said, “Oh – what GREAT hobbits,” which they found most insulting, since, as they curtly informed me, they were Jedi masters. In my defense, their light-sabers were not glowing (that I noticed) and so I thought they were perhaps walking sticks (?). I heard them muttering as they walked away, “Sheesh – we have LIGHT-SABERS, etc.” Strike one.

The doorbell rang again. This time, it was two little boys (dressed as I do not KNOW what because BeBe was becoming increasingly disconcerted by her “accessory” or “prop” status, and she was struggling to get away). Right off, one boy pointed to the other and said, “He’s ALLERGIC to cats.” (DOESN’T ANYONE JUST SAY TRICK-OR-TREAT ANYMORE?) I responded, “The cat hasn’t touched any of the candy.” Allergy boy very nicely said that he only had problems with cats if he had direct physical contact with them. Strike TWO.

So my Kitten Children seemed determined to cause “costume malfunction.” I don’t suppose it mattered all that much, because, as usual, no one seemed to understand WHAT I WAS TRYING TO BE.

Finally, a substantial group of My Most FAVOURITE Trick-or-Treaters arrived. By then, Fiona had retreated to the kitchen, and BeBe was just getting NASTY (STRIKE THREE). Jenny very nicely offered to put her in the kitchen, too, (probably hoping to prevent any disfiguring injuries to her beautiful children – BeBe rewarded her kindness by hissing nastily at her all the while).

So I had a great time admiring all their superbly-executed and imaginative costumes. I even took little fifteen-second films with my phone (which I must figure out how to LOAD and utilize). And in that large group, only ONE costume confused me (sorry, Jenny), but I still found it very appealing (where DID you get those bloomers/pettipants – whatever they are called?). I was going to take lovely photos with my Dad’s camera, but the re-chargeable batteries were defective, so hopefully someone will send me pictures. Only one other group came to the door during this time, so I just cheerfully flung some candy their way, bid them a “Happy Halloween,” and went back to my honoured guests.

After everyone left, and in view of the fact that we did not get a SINGLE additional knock on the door or ringing of the doorbell, the Kitten Children decided that they could PARTY.
I stopped her from shredding the cocaine chairs.

OH, The Temptation…

They love that thing - whatever it is.

Fiona Frolics Festively

Then they decided to “chill out:”
That's the BACK of the scary punkin.

BeBe is audacious and stands RIGHT NEXT to the Scary Punkin

Could she BE any more demure?

Fiona is more Lady-Like

Okay, so they were HORRIBLE props/accessories, but their utter cuteness prevents me from EVER staying annoyed at them for very long:
She's STILL by the Scary Punkin.
I don't know what she's staring at.