My kids are all about superheros these days.
Specifically, Batman. Now, when I was a kid (cracks knuckles, grabs cane and tries to figure out how to use cell phone), I had almost zero interest in superheros. I had no imagination, and save for the Wonderwoman training bra I wore religiously — without, I should add, the need for it — I couldn’t care LESS about superheros.
It’s probably because I had no imagination and preferred digging in the dirt, which is shockingly similar to what I’m like these days. Gimmie worms and other creepy crawlers and an old copy of Grey’s Anatomy and I’m golden.
But my kids. No. They’re insistent upon this superhero thing, which is handy because some toy company was all, WE SHOULD BRING BACK BATMAN AND ALLLLL THE SUPERHEROS, which means that the kids are in toy heaven.
It also made Halloween shopping much easier:
Me: “Whatchu wanna be for Halloween, Alex? THE LAND SHARK?”
Me (sighs): “Okay, Mimi, what about you? What do YOU want to be for Halloween?”
Alex: “Mama, what’s your costume going to be?”
Me: “Ummm….”your mom!”” I snickered as I said that, because while it’s true – YOUR MOM.
Alex: “No, that’s what you are EVERY day.”
Me: “Um…Twitter Fail Whale?”
Alex (flatly): “No.”
Me: “Fine, okay, what should I be?”
Alex and Mimi (in unison): “CATWOMAN.”
Okay, I thought, I could work with this shit. Until yesterday morning, when I awoke and realized that I owned almost nothing black (my brother went through a long-lasting black phase and I’ve been scarred ever since).
Hrms, I thought. Had it not been -2726 degrees last night, I’d have worn one of my thousands (okay three – but they were bridesmaids dresses) black dresses and gone all Glamor Shots Catwoman. Instead, after pouring through my closet, I decided that I could go as Cat-Burglar Catwoman. Just needed some black shit and some fucking eye makeup and fuck yeah! Catwoman/Cat-Burglar!
I grabbed a black v-neck shirt, some ugly black yoga pants, and decided that I’d bling the shit out of it after I picked up J from kindergarten. I could hardly wait to see his reaction (and by “hardly wait,” I mean, “I knew he was going to bitch”).
“Check it out, Al,” I showed him as we buckled up on our way from kindergarten to preschool. “I’m Catwoman!”
He looked at me doubtfully.
“No, you’re not,” he said. “You don’t have a tail, ears or ANYTHING. You need a costume.”
When I dropped him off at preschool and showed his sister, she was equally disdainful of my outfit. “Mama,” she said, hands on her hips, “you need to go to The Target Store and get a REAL costume.”
I sighed as I bid them farewell. I’d been hoping to avoid spending money on a costume — but Halloween is once a year and I knew it’d make them SO happy if were able to pull something together. Off to one of those stupid-looking costume boutiques I went, hoping for a fucking miracle. Who the balls goes shopping on HALLOWEEN?
I went inside, and noted that all of the women’s costumes could easily double as hooker apparel – it was like walking into Sluts-r-Us, and if I’d had a kickin’ Halloween party to go to, well, that’d be another story entirely. Instead, I was going out WITH MY CHILDREN.
I found the Catwoman costume right away — it looked like one of those body suits interpretive dancers wear (Now, students, ACT LIKE THE SALAD! BE the salad!).
Next to it, I noted that they had a Robin costume. Okay, I thought. Robin waits in the car anyway, and shit, this is better than looking like I might begin interpretive dancing as a microwave while we tricked and treated.
I scoured the store to see if I could find something more reasonable and/or less slutty, but no. This is the costume I found:
Which is bad enough, but I figured I could de-slut it a bit, considering I was taking my KIDS trick-or-treating and not going to a hooker convention. I decided to show it to a few friends so they could share in the horror, and was aghast to discover this:
Batman “Secret Wishes” Robin Costume? Double gag. Especially since, given my way, I’d have gone as the Land Shark, considering NOT ONE OF MY CHILDREN IS INTO THAT COSTUME IDEA (mostly because they’re boring).
I’d warned Dave that my costume looked like it’d come from Tramps R Us, and showing him the link on Amazon, he just laughed at me. Through clenched fingers, I typed, “I’m ONLY doing this because it’ll make the kids happy.” He laughed harder.
I dressed myself, throwing a pair of pants on under the slut suit, and headed over to Dave’s house, doing the whole walk of shame up to the driveway, hoping my neighbors wouldn’t mistake me for a prostitute.
The kids, upon seeing me, screamed happily, “OH MOM, YOU LOOK AWESOME! LOOK YOU’RE ROBIN AND WE’RE BATMANS! THIS IS SO COOL!”
“Better than the Catwoman outfit, huh?” I asked them, as they tore into the candy Dave’d bought for the trick-or-treaters, knowing that plying them with chocolate is practically a Halloween law, and shit, I didn’t want to get all sued by the Halloween police.
“YES!” They chirped happily. I smiled, still feeling absurd.
I mean, how can you NOT if this is your outfit?
The glee is CLEARLY evident on my face. The very least the manufactures could’ve done is NOT give me the world’s most absurd cape. The thing was like two inches long and seriously, I know Robin waits in the car and shit, but really? Alfred should’ve made the dude a REAL cape.
Luckily, I managed to mostly cover myself up so I didn’t appear as though I, too, was on the prowl for some candy and/or offering a BJ:
Thank the Good Lord Of Butter that Robin waits on the sidewalk.