I have recently had trouble getting my act together during Halloween. Yes, it is only the biggest costume fest of the year, but here the last several years my costume has been the work of a few hours’ hasty rummaging through my drawers in an attempt to locate some articles of ordinary clothing that, when combined on All Hallows’ Eve, will miraculously transform me into Van Helsing. Or failing that, at least a college kid wearing a cloak.
Last year I had a little more to go on. Black slacks and a white button down with tie were joined with a black, pocketed apron over which I wore a snug long-sleeve “jacket” with two zippers, a hood, and a Gothic emblem (I think, it is kind of hard to make out) stretched out betwixt my shoulder blades. A wooden cross about my neck, made from real Holy Land wood, and a tiny corked bottle of water (disguised by the blue tint of the glass) finished the ensemble. I convinced myself that I was an alchemist.
Upon getting to the evening ho-down, I felt pretty good about my costume. Until the host came bounding forward to greet our car and hailed me with a jovial, “Hello, father!” I was a priest. I brushed off the unintended slight and strode with purpose into the house where I met our host’s girlfriend, who was dressed up like a pirate. “So are you a doctor, or something?” Not really, but then her best friend entered the room and shied away from me, baring her fangs and hissing. I was a vampire hunter. By evenings end, after meeting each of these verdicts several times – only ONCE was I called an alchemist – it had been established that I was a vampire-hunting alchemaic priest, Ph.D. My one consolation was that, whatever I was, everyone thought my costume looked great.
This year I put a little more thought into my costume. My cousin donated a white t-shirt and using the bottom of a peanut butter jar I traced out three circles on the right of the shirt, evenly spaced from the collar to the hem. We stretched the shirt across our palms to cut out the circles – a two person job, apparently – and left the circle at the bottom hanging by a little fabric. I was loathe to pursue the next course of action, but I wanted stripes on my shirt really badly, so we laid out the modified shirt in the driveway, I figured I would just wash the thing anyway. Actually, the driveway was a perfect spot, because the uneven surface gave the horizontal blue lines and the red line running parallel to the holes a vintage look that pleased me. The project complete, I went home and tossed the shirt into the wash with some socks while I selected a close-fitting black shirt to wear under the white one. After all, with three big holes in my costume, I would probably spend the party really cold and really awkward. But sadly, when I returned for my washed shirt, I discovered that the blue lines had almost faded away. There is no time to fix it, however, so I will not let it get me down!
For this costume, I am taking my cues from THE OFFICE’s Jim Halpert; I’m going as 3-hole punched paper.
