Happy Halloween! Or, if you prefer, Haloowen. (As you can see, my typing leaves something to be desired.)
First, let’s all take a moment to appreciate My Fella’s costume —
Want proof? I have never, in all the years we’ve known each other, seen his chin…until today.*
And it’s a nice chin, actually. I said as much, while expressing surprise that there was such a handsome face underneath the beard. For some reason, I’ve always assumed that facial hair is intended to hide unpleasantness.
As for me, I haven’t properly dressed up since I was a teenager. If you must know, I was a Jackson Pollock — I wrapped myself in an old, paint-splattered dropcloth and rolled my eyes SO HARD when person after person ventured, “So…you’re a painting ghost?”
Since a.) I’ve got a nasty cold and b.) I’m estimating a grand total of 8 visitors — and for those of you keeping track at home, that’s 2 trick-or-treating nephews and half a dozen borrachos — I’m not exactly pulling out all the Samhain stops.
Although we did design, carve, and creatively embellish a pumpkin, which My Fella dubbed “Scarface.” It’s no Warty**, but it’ll do. (I so wish I could get the photos off my phone, because I’d love to show off our handiwork — his detailed paper-napkin schematic drawing and my serial killer-style knife skills.)
EDIT: HERE IT IS!
Meanwhile, I may just put on my best dress, spike my hot apple cider with something a bit stronger, and find some suitably festive entertainment to enjoy while the Boxhound barks at passersby.