But WHERE exactly are we going to sport these stellar costumes? My husband and I were discussing the issue over dinner tonight, and found ourselves facing a considerable dearth of options. Our one actual invitation came from a friend in grad school who's planning a bar crawl of truly nightmarish proportions. With the end-of-quarter grading to do, the student comments to write, and the whole baby-making detox I'm observing, this option is unappealing. And, let's face it, even if we weren't so busy we'd feel out of place at such a gathering. We're homebodies, unless it's a friend's party or a can't-miss concert or a farmer's market...
But anyway, if we had kids, we could go to the wonderful, amazing, spooky haunted house up in the fancy neighborhood above ours--up where kids actually trick-or-treat because it's SAFE (and relatively flat). But, we have no kid and our cats won't wear the elephant hat and tiny tie we bought for them, so we have nothing to disguise and put in a baby sling as a way to get in the door. Not that I've considered that...
So, where does this leave us? According to my husband, we're "in between Halloweens:" too old and stodgy for the horror of L.A. nightlife, but too young and childless for the more innocent joys of the season. What do other folks do when they've been "Hallo-weaned" by society? Although most people don't have the deep, abiding love for the holiday that I do, I bet this realization hits in different ways. Maybe they're too old for the raging New Year's bash in L.A. but feel demoralized without a good reason (like a tired kid) to watch the ball drop in Eastern Time and call it a night. Or, perhaps they feel embarasssed (as I do) when "Santa" continues to fill the stockings each year, but there are no sleepy-eyed munchkins to scream with surprise; there's just me, in my jammies, thanking "Santa" for the hand cream.
I think we're in the middle school years of our adult life. As they say: "It's an awkward stage. But you'll grow out of it."
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