I have hated Halloween ever since I hit my twenties.
I was dating a girl who just got too into Halloween.
You know the type?
They start with pumpkin earrings.
Add to that a witch decorated scarf.
Knee high Witchee-poo boots. (Which are hot, by the way, just don’t let them throw you.)
Throw in the Monster Mash on their Ipod, which causes them to mumble that rotten crappy song all day.
And, just for good measure, a sick addiction to Candy Corn.
WHAT THE HELL IS CANDY CORN? CAUSE IT AIN’T CANDY!
It’s wax as near as I can figure.
I know its not corn, cause I have eaten it and held a stakeout over the toilet. There was no Candy Corn in my healthy poop. (I have bowel movements like a thoroughbred in training, thats healthy in a sick way.)
They tend to sell Candy Corn in two ways.
The first is a large bag, filled with a couple of hundred little cellophane bags with ten pieces each. The other is a large bag of just loose Candy Corn, usually 3 to 5 pounds of that waxy crap.
Who the hell eats that much wax without being constipated for a week?
Maybe the company that makes Candy Corn also makes laxatives.
Very sneaky Xlax.
Back to the ex-girlfriend.
I think the thing that bugged me the most was just the level of excitement that she would hit the whole week before Halloween.
Not being into something when someone else is REALLY into it, is really annoying.
It was the weekend before Halloween and we were at the fourth club of the evening that was having a costume contest.
She is dressed in an elaborate Pirate Wench outfit. (I rarely argue with any outfit that sports THAT much cleavage.
This is back before the whole Pirates of the Caribbean films broke, so maybe she had some insight.)
I was dressed as a pirate completely against my will.
I was not happy.
The MC called our name and the girlfriend went out on stage.
Me? I just stopped.
I began to walk out of the club, losing pirate costume pieces as I went.
Thankfully, by the time I hit the parking lot and got into my car, I was back to being a normally dressed man with a little bit of dignity regained. Not a lot, I was dressed as a pirate after all, but a little.
I left her there to find her own way home.
An asshole move, I realize that, but dressed like a Pirate Wench with that amount of cleavage, I didn’t think she would have any trouble getting a ride.
My cell phone went off for the rest of the evening.
I ignored it. If you are going to be an asshole, go big or go home.
She never talked to me again, and I am ok with that.
To this day, I have never touched a pirate outfit or (for some sort of psychologically connected reason) Candy Corn.
Although, upon reflection, maybe it was the big plastic pumpkin bowls of Candy Corn on the table.
I still say its not candy.