I agonized over my Halloween costumes. I wanted wit, a door-answerer who did two or three takes before figuring out who I was and then chuckling to himself, but I also wanted to do the minimum amount of work necessary. Case in point, I was four when I came up with this one. Can anyone guess what Jean and I are here?
As I got older, my work ethic decreased and my desire for candy increased. I only wanted costumes that incorporated my regular clothes and allowed me to carry pillowcases. In ’85, I became Clark Kent by adding a hat and a pocket protector with Clark Kent written on it. In ’86, I was Rollie Fingers with a handlebar mustache and my normal baseball uniform. In ’87, I became Don Johnson by wearing a pastel shirt and taking off my glasses.
In ’88, I decided that I had been working way too much on my Halloween costumes. My glasses had broken at the temple and had been taped up for two weeks. I added another piece of masking tape to the bridge of the glasses. I wore my regular clothes, but hiked up one pant leg and tucked it into my sock. I took my Clark Kent pocket protector and filled it with pens. I walked out to show my mom.
She looked at me askance. “What are you this year?” she asked.
“Mooom! I’m a nerd!”
She laughed at me. “Jim, I don’t think you exactly get the concept of Halloween,” she said.
“Do you think anyone will recognize me?”
“Not if you comb your hair.”
I had forgotten about my hair. It was usually a mess, but I was pretty sure nerds had neat hair. It was too bad there weren’t any nerds around to ask. I ran back to the bathroom and combed my hair.
And now it’s Zach’s turn. His mom wanted to dress him up like a hick from Kansas, replete with overalls and a flannel. And while she met the minimum amount of work requirement, I didn’t want him wearing his church clothes out where they might get dirty.
So we went back to the drawing board.
He roared like a pirate and nobody guessed all night what Zach was. Thoughts?