Costume Shopping

Wasn't Halloween once meant to be scary? Ghosts and ghouls and blood-sucking vampires, right?

Apparently Playboy has bought out the Halloween costume industry. Or so I was lead to believe as I was perusing the racks at the giant Halloween superstore on Market Street tonight, and feeling rather...prudish....

So let's see; I can be a Slutty Devil, Slutty French Maid, Slutty Nurse, Slutty Schoolgirl or....a nun. I guess this is what I get for waiting to the last minute.

"Excuse me, does this outfit come with the implants? No? Damn."

I could go as something hideous and bloody, but who wants to be THAT girl at the party, surrounded by pretty little half-naked bunny rabbits and kitty cats, and blatantly disregarded by every man in the room?

In the fitting rooms, the woman in the next stall over was wailing about how she wouldn't be able to eat the night she wears her pirate costume, which was really just the eye patch and not much else.

I found a fabulous Cleopatra wig, but the outfit to go with it was more or less a tiny strip of fabric that would just barely cover my girl parts, with slits down the sides of the pants for my ass cheeks to peek out and say hello to the world. The sales girl handed this get-up to me with a straight face, even after I'd told her I would want something I could wear to work. Maybe I should have specified what I meant by "work."

Finally I managed to find the least slutty, and yet still at least vaguely feminine, costume possible - save the nun's robe. I paid a small fortune for it then fled the store, leaving behind a gaggle of girls who were moaning over the impossibility of losing ten pounds from their thighs and having it injected into their breasts by Friday.