This was Helena’s costume this year. It was her idea to be a die and we were hoping that one of her friends would be another one so that they could be a pair of dice and then I could take them trick-or-treating by rolling them down the street and shouting C’MON BABY! MAMA NEEDS A NEW PAIR OF SHOES!
But it wasn’t to be because her friend decided to be a ladybug and I can’t roll a ladybug down the street because someone might report me to PETA so Helena was a lone die. I told her that we should staple one of Daddy’s ties to the front. Then she could be a … wait for it … tie die!
Like, tie-dye? Like cool, far out man?
Yeah. That was her reaction too.
Nobody appreciates my humor in this house.
I leave you with the post I wrote last Halloween about Nate’s costume from few years ago when he lost his mind and very nearly his head.
Happy Sunday, everyone!
You don’t need no stinkin’ Martha Stewart! In 70 easy steps
- Watch the clock and wait until the big hand touches the last minute.
- Tell your wife that you’ve been invited to a costume party that night.
- Watch as the will to live gets sucked out of her body because you know she’d rather model a swimsuit under fluorescent light than go to a costume party.
- Appear surprised as she blurts out that she can’t possibly get a babysitter on such short notice so you’ll be going alone.
- Pretend to be disappointed.
- Run around the house in search of a costume.
- Find nothing suitable and stand in the middle of the kitchen repeating “now what?” a dozen times.
- Make sure to stand directly in the path of your wife who is trying to feed your three year old daughter who is busy taking everything out of every single cupboard and drawer so she can play garage sale.
- Heave a big sigh and reluctantly tell your wife that you’re going to have to go out and buy something.
- Stand back so that your wife can fling her body across the door yelling NO WAY, BUSTER.
- Remember how long it took to resuscitate your credit card the last time you went on a shopping spree.
- See the candle burning on the kitchen table and have an epiphany.
- Run upstairs.
- Rifle through your closet and silently give thanks that your wife apparently determined that the stars and planets were perfectly aligned and did all the laundry.
- Don’t mention anything about stars or planets to your wife.
- Find a perfectly good pair of jeans, coincidentally the only pair you own.
- Find a perfectly good shirt.
- Lock yourself in your bedroom.
- Tear holes into your perfectly good jeans, coincidentally the only pair you own.
- Tear holes into your perfectly good shirt.
- Get the butane lighter.
- Burn and singe your once perfectly good jeans.
- Burn and singe your once perfectly good shirt.
- Ignore your wife’s WHAT IN GOD’S NAME ARE YOU DOING UP THERE? when the smoke alarm goes off upstairs.
- Shout IT’S OK, IT’S OK, NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, IT’S ALL UNDER CONTROL down to your wife as she starts to wig out and run all around in preparation for evacuating.
- Shout YOU OK? when you hear your wife trip over a muffin pan and declare the garage sale as being SO OVER.
- Don’t wait for an answer.
- Turn off the smoke alarm and run downstairs, past your wife and into the garage.
- Light some newspapers on fire and immediately extinguish them but not before the garage fills up with smoke.
- Ignore your wife’s cry of WHAT THE HELL, NATE? when the smoke alarm goes off in the kitchen.
- Scoop up all the soot you just created.
- Run into the kitchen, turn off the smoke alarm and run upstairs.
- Hear your three year old daughter ask your wife what Daddy is doing.
- Hear your three year old ask what batshit crazy means.
- Grab a bunch of soot and smear it all over your once perfectly good jeans.
- Smear it all over your once perfectly good shirt.
- Smear it all over your face.
- Grab your wife’s very expensive hair gel that she gets twice a year from the salon, the one she lectures the kids about never touching if they ever want to see daylight again, the one she keeps hidden in a drawer lest the kids decide that daylight is overrated.
- Ignore the fact that your own mousse from WalMart is right there in plain view.
- Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Be quiet.
- Squeeze 75% of your wife’s very expensive hair gel that she gets twice a year from the salon into your hand and spike your hair.
- Panic when the bottle doesn’t reinflate.
- Leave the bottle on the counter in full view, thinking your wife will understand this one time.
- Come back to reality and hide the bottle in the vanity drawer.
- Look at yourself in the mirror.
- Decide there’s something missing.
- Have a light bulb moment.
- Run downstairs and get a tea light candle and shout NO ONE LOOK AT ME YET.
- Run back upstairs.
- Light the tea light candle.
- Spontaneously turn into a moron and place the lit tea light on top of your head to give the illusion your hair is on fire.
- Forget that 75% of your wife’s very expensive hair gel that she gets twice a year from the salon is highly flammable.
- Lose 6,895,321,459 brain cells and an undetermined number of hair follicles in a nanosecond.
- Let out a brief yelp and immediately snuff out the tea light.
- Recoup 6,895,300,000 brain cells. Write off the remaining 21,459 cells and an undetermined number of hair follicles as payment for finishing course Stupid Is As Stupid Does 101.
- Run downstairs.
- Run into the kitchen and scare your wife and three year old daughter to death.
- Shout GET IT? GET IT?
- Watch your wife and three year old daughter stare at you blankly.
- Shout I’M A LIGHTNING STRIKE VICTIM!
- Run over to kiss and hug your three year old daughter who thinks you’re dead.
- Stand there while your wife walks around and around you.
- Pretend you didn’t hear her ask Hey, aren’t those your good jeans?
- Smile when she exclaims Hey, cool hair!
- Ignore her when she remarks I didn’t know your mousse could do that!
- Avoid her when she looks at you suspiciously.
- Try not to show her the top of your head and pretend you didn’t hear her ask What’s wrong with that patch up there?
- Smile when your wife grins, gives you a kiss and proclaims that you rocked the hell out of the costume.
- Leave for the party with your wife’s blessings as she goes upstairs to your bedroom.
- Know that your costume was totally worth the OH MY GOD, NATHAN, YOU ARE SO DEAD that you hear your wife yell as she slams the vanity drawer while you peel out of the driveway.
(Hi Nate! circa 2003)