Smashed it out of the park for a Hallowinner
GUYS, I just won Halloween.
Now, before I explain why I’m the Hallowinner, let’s clear some things up about tomorrow’s festivities.
It’s time to quit your whinging about this “American holiday” or “pagan ritual” … it has its roots in Celtic culture (as do most white Australians, for that matter) and was embraced by the Christian church about 1000 years ago.
And regardless of its origins, why on Earth would anyone complain about free candy? (Excuse me, lollies).
Forget about sugar being unhealthy, it’s the strawberries that will kill you. (Too soon?)
So anyway, back to why My Halloween Rules …
First of all, I’m fortunate to live in a neighbourhood where not only do I know all the people upon whose doors we’ll be knocking, but I also know they’ll be well stocked to feed the hordes of Halloween participants.
And there will be hordes. I should know since I’m literally bussing kids in from disadvantaged trick-or-treating towns to enjoy our good fortune. I have a convoy of at least four cars lined up to whisk these children away after school to my doorstep.
But the real reason I’m the Halloween hero is the costume I’m making my daughter wear.
See, Australians keep doing this holiday wrong. Sure, you can go for the ghost/witch/ zombie ensemble … but that’s so 1800s.
The fun of Halloween is being original and creative. And I’ve nailed it.
It started, as all good things do, at Kmart.
My daughter spotted an avocado costume (big props to the big K for recognising the value of this national icon), and at $10 it was cheaper than an actual avocado.
Since we live in the vicinity of Nobby Beach, I felt this was also paying tribute to our native culture and diet – I only wish my son could dress as a matcha latte.
But as we turned to leave the costume aisle, an idea burst into my head.
I could make my daughter carry a beer bottle around so she could be … A SMASHED AVOCADO!
The simple genius of this costume was so brilliant it could not be contained.
Literally. I could not contain it.
Beside us stood a couple in their early 20s also browsing the costumes and I felt it was my civic duty to share my outstanding plan.
“Hey guys,” I said … to which they jumped, obviously not being accustomed to being accosted by middle-aged mothers.
“Are you looking for a costume?” I asked.
“Oh, we’re just looking for a gift for my little nephew,” said the girl, “he’s turning ...”
I cut her off, having absolutely zero interest in either her or her shall-remain-ageless nephew.
“Because I just came up with the best idea,” I butted in. “My daughter is going to be an avocado and carry a beer bottle and be a SMASHED AVOCADO! Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Get it? A smashed avocado!”
The only thing they got was that I was clearly off my medication.
They smiled politely and backed their way out of the aisle before turning to run for the exit.
I barely noticed, still so delighted by my own hilarity.
Then I saw my children’s faces.
“Mum!” hissed my son. “Why are you so embarrassing? Why are you telling people? Nobody cares. Nobody thinks it’s as funny as you do.”
I’m not going to lie, it hurts when you realise not only do your children not appreciate you, but they clearly have NO sense of humour. Still, I’ll be having the last laugh come tomorrow evening.
I’m altering the costume just slightly … instead of beer, my child can carry a wine bottle. And maybe, just maybe, it will have a sneaky straw sticking out.
And perhaps this mother might find herself getting a little thirsty as she traipses around the neighbourhood, stealing lollies from her kids’ bags.
After all, there’s nothing like a little Hallo-wine to make for a Hallo-win.
It’s a trick AND a treat. Nailed it.
Read Ann Wason Moore every Tuesday and Saturday in the