She: I always thought I would be much better at Halloween costumes than I am.
Z: I know, right? We’re very clever people.
She: I wouldn’t go that far.
Z: We have clever Christmas cards. We have a clever child. Our every waking moment is basically as if Dorothy Parker and Oscar Wilde were married.
She: Yeah. Not so much.
Z: But still — you’d think we’d be able to come up with better costumes than we do.
She: I hate to just go to a costume store and buy something. That doesn’t seem very fun or creative.
Z: I totally agree, but at the same time, we never seem to get our acts together in time to create something, or even think of something very good to begin with.
She: When I was a kid I always felt handicapped because my mom didn’t sew. But now, I’m pretty crafty.
Z: With the $10,000 a year you spend on supplies, you better be.
She: But I still never seem to be able to pull the perfect Halloween costume together.
Z: It’s a lot of pressure.
She: It should be something timely and clever.
Z: And you shouldn’t have to explain it to people.
She: Exactly. Having to explain a Halloween costume is like having to explain a joke. It means it wasn’t really very clever or funny.
Z: Or that the person you’re talking to is really stupid.
She: Or that you’re really arrogant if you think someone is stupid just because they don’t get your jokes.
Z: My choices are either I’m arrogant or the world is stupid? That’s a no-brainer.
She: My favorite Halloween costume so far this year is the dad in a Jack Daniels costume with a little kid in a Marlboro cigarette costume.
Z: So wrong, yet so freaking funny.
She: Koss wanted to be a finger this year, but all of the finger costumes we found were middle fingers.
Z: I was amused, but he was horrified.
She: I don’t think his school principal would have loved that one either.
Z: Junior high schools don’t get comedy. And that’s not just me being arrogant.
She: I was so desperate to find something this year I actually went to Kmart. I liked the whoopee cushion and the doggie bag costume, but I couldn’t bring myself to buy a costume at Kmart.
Z: You can’t even do it ironically, because their costumes aren’t all that bad.
She: Sure. That was my problem.
Z: However, it was the perfect place to buy a cape. I’m going to be Capeman. And I’m going to have to carry around the Paul Simon CD so that people get it, and people still aren’t going to get it, because they’ve never heard of Capeman.
She: Because they’re stupid?
Z: No. Because we’re bad at coming up with Halloween costumes.
She: Even the one time I thought I had a clever one, it didn’t work.
Z: Your Sue Sylvester outfit?
She: No. That was just everyone else’s cultural ignorance.
Z: You think so, kettle?
She: I’m talking about the time I wore Hawaiian clothes and had a bunch of pill bottles hanging from my hat. I was a tropical depression.
Z: That was clever.
She: But I had to explain it. Just like when I wore all brown clothes, brown face paint and had bright green hair. No one in my office even knew what a Chia Pet was.
Z: That makes me sad for America.
She: You don’t have to explain the bottle of Jack and the pack of Marlboros.
Z: Other than to child services.
She: Yes, dear.
— Share your best Halloween costumes ever with .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address). Click here for previous She Said, Z Said columns. Follow Leslie Dinaberg on Twitter.
Comments
