So, for Halloween, Marty and I went as Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble. We looked like shit. I wore a woman's adult small costume (nothing bigger at the store) and the little fella wore a woman's medium. For some odd reason, we thought they wore heels. We were, um, wrong. So we blew twenty senseless dollars on 4-inch stilettos. Apparently, they walked around in bare feet. Why did I forget that? Maybe I just wanted to wear pumps. Anyways, after many beers and nearing the end of the night, I decided to slip and fall on my elbow. I must've fallen into some dip, too, because I had a lot of food all over my dress. And I guess I told Marty at the time that Tommy pushed me. Yeah, he was like 30 feet away macking on some girl he'll probably have a text message relationship with.
But I digress. I got up, grabbed my elbow, and saw a lot of reddish plasma oozind and squirting, as well as some skin flapping in the wind. Two and a half hours later, I had three stiches. Should've been like seven -- so I've told everyone that's how many stiches the doctor threw into me.
Which reminds me of other stupid Halloween stunts. Like when I was 11 at a friends house and only had to walk across the street to get home. I strutted past a part of high school seniors who yelled at me and told me to run. Like any weakling nerd at the time, I abided to these calls. Two houses later, I fell to the grass in a huffle with egg yoke all over my back. I ran inside crying and had to anchor my mother's leg so she didn't go outside and give the kids what for.
I think I dressed up as Gumby that year.
I've dressed up as a Smurf, Oompa Loompa, Old Man and Mike Ditka. But never have I needed stiches. I remember Tommy puking one year when we were Smurfs, but don't tell anyone that. The last time I brought it up when we were 25 he got mad at me and tried to steal my shoe.
When I was younger, my mom used to like to dress me up in makeup and girlish costumes. I think that might be why I had the presdiposition this year to throw on women's shoes and paint my nails. Who knows. What I do know, though, is Halloween kicks ass. And I'm going to continue to make a fool out of myself every year.