Gather around, children, while I tell you a little story about Halloweens back when I was your age, waaaayyyy back in the 1970s.
Ah, those were the days! Children wore costumes their mothers made from scratch, and store-bought costumes were much less slutty, (and much more flammable.) This period also marked the final years when it was acceptable, nay, encouraged, to raise awareness to the plight of the homeless by dressing your child up as a Hobo for the night.
Which brings me to Exhibit A, featuring my brother, the Hobo and me as Raggedy Anne. My mom made the hat and the apron and of course there’s the cute little red dress underneath. Look how sweet we are posing out in front of our house in Idaho.
Oh, here’s another picture from that same Halloween…..WAIT A MINUTE!!….My hair is much longer and now my brother’s a football player. And I believe that picture is taken at our house in Chicago.
It appears that my mom pulled the ol’ “no one from Idaho will know you wore that costume for Halloween in Chicago last year” move.
Well played, mother.
But wait, I think I remember that dress from somewhere else.
Ah yes, here it is…..Except it’s floor length instead of knee length. And why do I have that look of extreme surprise on my face?
I think it’s because that card says “Your mom is going to make you wear this dress for every holiday for the next five years….And by the way….you’re moving to Idaho.”
You’re going to wear that dress for every holiday until you hit puberty. Here it is again! It’s back in Idaho now, but this time it appears to be on a really shy/mad/ashamed pilgrim.
Perhaps I’m just wondering, “was Raggedy Anne a pilgrim?” or “if my costume doesn’t have ‘sexy’ in the name, how will I ever be popular?”
So, my dear children, please know that you will get no sympathy from your 2x Raggedy Anne/Pilgrim mother when you complain about not having a new Halloween costume this year when your dress-up bin/bedroom floor looks like this.
(And give mommy all your Reeses Peanut Butter Cups.)
For more Halloween fun, be sure to read about the time I had a 3 hour text conversation about pumpkins with someone who I thought was my father in law.
Originally posted on my The Dusty Parachute blog.