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Halloweekend

Halloweekend is this weekend, and far and wide, people will be trying to figure out how to take a piss without ruining a costume made by tiny Taiwanese fingers. This a situation I empathize with because I once had to wear a child’s Batman costume out and ended up giving up, peeing my pants purposefully and knowingly four times, and continuously saying yo this beer smells piss. I did not take anybody home that weekend. Halloweekend is more than guys pretending that they don’t like Hocus Pocus when they are cuddled up with their lady or people thinking not liking kettle corn is still some fresh take. It’s about freedom, watching girls dress like their favorite Disney channel was raised in a white trash part of Florida, and people dressing like Post Malone- because it’s the closest you can get to appropriating another culture while actually playing inside the white lines. Millions of eighteen and nineteen-year-old girls across the country will dress however they want without their parents yelling at them for the first time. They will facetime their Moms in giant hooded sweatshirts, so she doesn’t notice they are wearing less clothing than a BBC documentary about Malawi, put their Snapchat in the phone of the Woody pledge from Sigma Chi, and get 634 likes on Instagram. And I will not like the photo because I will pretend that now, since I’m twenty-two, I’m above thinking that it’s hot, instead of the fact that it’s my friend’s younger sister.  

Halloween gives bloggers something to write about with indignation. I will pass by a guy dressed as that teacher from Canada, I will laugh, and he will love his job the next day because he was tagged in the wrong post. Halloween is when the funny girl of the friend group shines, and the hot one glows. It’s where long-distance relationships come to an end, and your friend gets mauled in the group chat for wearing a matching costume with his girlfriend. If you live up North, you will see girls shaking in line for the bar, but they’d get hypothermia before giving up the ‘fit. On Saturday, I’m going on a bar crawl in my town where I will pass by hundreds of wholesome families dressed in costumes, and one of my drunk friends will knuckle-touch the little boy wearing the Paw Patrol suit and say we back the blue brother. Middle-schoolers everywhere will pretend that they are too cool to dress up, and the lamest person you know will wear a platonic jersey despite the fact they’re in their twenties. All over the country, guys will send some spooky messages at 2:18 in the morning and be haunted by a swell of open Snapchats the next day. Have a fun weekend, everybody. 

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