It finally happened.
I got to be one of those annoying girlfriends that forces her man to wear a cute couples costume on Halloween.
I. Regret. Nothing.
On Friday night, an hour after we were supposed to head to Sarah and Josh’s for a Halloween party, Matt announced he was having second thoughts about our Wizard of Oz themed costumes.
“My buddies are going to give me a hard time,” He said with a pained look on his face. “I can’t be the scarecrow. I can’t. Why don’t I be the Karate Kid instead? Everyone loves the Karate Kid.”
I had been sitting in my Dorothy costume for two hours wearing more makeup than a contestant on Ru Paul’s Drag Race.
I bought red shoes.
I shaved my g*d damn legs.
“Fine.” I said. “It’s fine.”
For a moment the poor guy looked relieved, putting away the bag of raffia I had wandered around the craft store for thirty minutes looking for. Then it hit him: This was a trap.
“Are you mad?”
Puppy dog eyes.
Little leg flick to show some ankle like an Amish harlot.
Fifteen minutes later we went to the party like this:
My work here is done.