KISS MY GRITS
I loved free candy, but I was never happy about having to dress up in a costume to get it. So began my love-hate relationship with Halloween. As a kid, I cobbled together my costume at the last minute with things I had on hand. That explains why I was a “gypsy” four years in a row. A gypsy costume was putting on Mom’s make-up, most of her necklaces, some clip-on hoop earrings and a scarf around my neck. My brother, Matt, had a similar routine. He opted for the “hobo” costume that entailed putting dirt on his face, wearing his undershirt and jeans and clamping a huge fake plastic cigar between his teeth. I know if my son would have asked, “Hey, Mom, can I go as a poor, transient guy for Halloween?” I would have said no, but also would have been tempted. He was naturally dirty most of the time, and I remembered Mom’s old trick of creating faux “dirt” by lighting a cork from a wine bottle, letting it cool and then smudging Matt’s face. My older sister, Elizabeth, was always sick on Halloween. I remember being incredulous that she was skipping trick or treating. My resolve was like the postal service — no snow, wind, rain or allergy would have stopped me from fleecing the neighbors of their candy. My friend, Kerri, had an enthusiasm for free candy that topped my own. We would meet before the big day to plan our route. We would decide if we were going to zig-zag down the streets or make a loop. There was no time for indecision. We would be sure to secure the largest pillowcase in our house. With military efficiency, we attacked the neighborhood. The payoff for our discipline was mounds of candy that should have lasted us until Christmas, but never made it to Thanksgiving.
So, when my husband, Rob, told me we had been invited to a Halloween costume party a few years ago, I was leary. There was no incentive of free candy as an adult. Why would I want to dress up in an uncomfortable outfit for the night? Rob insisted this was a coveted invitation to THE Halloween party. He said he heard stories of epic costumes from past parties. Not to be outdone, I embraced this challenge with the same focus and resolve as a kid promised free candy. Any couple worth a darn would coordinate their costumes — make a clever pairing — I’d seen it all over Pinterest. My brainstorming went to dynamic duos that I loved from television: Arthur Fonzarelli and Pinky Tuscadero, Donny and Marie, Steve Austin and Jaime Sommers, Kermit and Miss Piggy. Nothing clicked until I ran across an old rerun of “Alice” on TV. Rob has a deep love of all ’70s sitcoms and he owned a “Mel’s Diner” t-shirt, so I knew he would love going as the cranky fry cook with a heart of gold. Rob’s costume would be easy, all he had to do was wear Mel’s signature white hat and a white shirt. It was as easy as a ’70s hobo! Because Rob liked to go the extra mile, he also carried props of a spatula and a bell to slap when the order was ready for pick-up. That left me to be one of the waitresses…and we all know that Florence Jean Castleberry was the most iconic. Flo was sassy and had a specific look — reddish bouffant hair, smacking gum, pencil behind her ear, hoop earrings and a scarf around her neck. It had the same elements as my go-to gypsy costume from 1976.
I ordered Mel’s cooking hat and Flo’s reddish wig on Amazon. These elements pulled the costumes together — and were worth the price. Even though I was violating my just-use-what-you-have costume mandate, I wanted to fit in at the party where people put effort into their outfits. I rounded out my Flo look with a pink dress from Goodwill, hoop earrings, a pencil for my ear and a nametag I created myself. I was proud of my creation. It was spot on. I looked forward to the party so I could show everyone that Rob and I were fun people and fully embraced the costume aspect of the party.
On the way to the party, Mel and Flo had to stop and get gas. I felt self-conscious but reassured myself that everyone knew it was Halloween and must think we are a crazy fun couple ready for a night out. As we drove to the party, I asked a few more probing questions. Rob assured me that we would know most of the couples there. He also mentioned that he didn’t know when the party started, since some of them had been there since the afternoon enjoying the heated pool.
When we arrived, we could hear the party raging in the backyard. There were lots of cars already there. I was relieved there was a crowd. As we walked around the side of the house to join the party, there was one last moment of terror that we would be the only ones dressed up. But, there was no going back now. So, I confidently rounded the corner in my pink creation and was met by a group of people who were either only partly in costume or completely without a costume. My heart sank. I regretted not having a pad of paper as a prop so I could have scribbled, “I am going to kill you” and handed it to Rob. I quickly calculated that there was not enough beer at this party in which to drown my embarrassment. To my delight, most of the revelers had been drinking all day, so that made the reception a bit easier.
But arriving at a costume party and being the only person with a wig on didn’t turn out to be the most defeating thing. As we placed our brownies on the buffet table, one of the guys asked me who I was supposed to be — Flo from those Progressive Insurance ads? I said that we were Mel and Flo from the show, “Alice.” You know, the sitcom from the late ‘70s? “Kiss my grits?” “Dingy, pick up!?” Everyone had a blank look on their face and then it hit me. None of these people were even born when the show was popular. We were a good 15 years older than most of the attendees — which I didn’t anticipate when selecting our costumes. A critical error — you always need to know your audience. The hosts’ mom was there and only she knew who we were supposed to be. It should have made me feel less of an ass, but it didn’t.
So, I did what anyone filled with regret would do. I sat down at their outdoor bar, got a beer, straightened my wig and acted like it was not humiliating to be there in full costume. Rob sheepishly glanced my way a few times during the party. He knew his only hope was for me to drink enough not to care. I did and capped off the night by telling anyone who would listen to “kiss my grits.”
I still have the costume, wig and all. I can’t wait to wear it again to another costume party — if the average age of the attendees will be 65 and over.
