Boo!

I have never really enjoyed Halloween. Even as a kid, I had horrible costume ideas and was bad at the overall execution of trick-or-treating. For example, while many girls my age were going as Rainbow Bright or Jem (from Jem and the Holograms), I was wrapping a towel around my neck attempting to be a princess--unfortunately, said towel was my mom's favorite so I had to settle for my brother's old G.I. Joe costume. As for trick-or-treating, most kids bring a a cute jack-o-lantern bucket, a pillow case or a big bag to collect their mounds of candy. Not this girl! One year, mom told me to get a pillow case from the hall closet for all my candy. Not being the brightest 7 year old, I grabbed my favorite pillow case from the closet...unfortunately, this was the throw pillow case. Yes, I grabbed a pillow case that made trick-or-treating virtually impossible. I did get several complements on the lovely pattern of my trick-or-treat bag. I think one woman asked me where I got it. I had to defer to mom.

One Halloween sticks out in particular. Like many kids, I became too cool for Halloween in Middle School. Actually, I wasn't cool at all in Middle School, though I desperately wanted to be. One of my best friends was cool so I just pretended that I had her street cred. On my 7th grade Halloween we decided that we were too old for costumes so we met up with some BOYS in our grade. It is important to note here that I am an extremely awkward person now so imagine the awkward, middle school Becca meeting up with boys--EPIC!!!

I put my hair in my best pony tail and picked out my finest sweat shirt and rolled up jeans for the occasion. I remember being so nervous about meeting up with the boys, but my besty seemed so calm. I assume she was at ease because she had already made out with a boy and was well on her way to getting a boob grab. I, on the other hand, was a late bloomer or boys were not really into the awkward chubby 7th grader. I like to think it was option A.

We had planned to meet the young gents at 8pm by the area golf course. We had to walk there because 1. They lived in the neighborhood and 2. the only set of wheels we had was a banana seat, and of course, we were too cool for that.

By the time we got there and the boys were already there. I remember I had a HUGE crush on one of them because he had a SWEET bowl cut! Being the seductress that I was at 12, I threw my hands in the air and shouted, "HEY GUYS! What's up?" I remember my popular friend looking at me as though I was the lamest thing since Saved By The Bell:The New Class. Just as I put my hands down, we heard it...the sound of a High School supped up truck and the smell of teenage boys cruelty. As I turned around, it met my favorite pair of jeans. Yes, I got egged. We all started running into the golf course. Lucky for us, the ban of hormonal high schoolers didn't follow us. As we all gathered together to talk about what happened, I noticed that I was the only casualty of the night.

I remember wondering how the heck I was the only one who got egged. I mean I was wearing a sweet ass sweat shirt and the nicest pair of jeans that Sears had to offer!! For some reason, I thought that getting egged would give me some sort of clout with this popular crowd--that they would think that I was a tough girl who could handle the high school crowd. Wrong. Instead, they complained that I smelled all night and that I should probably throw out those worn out old jeans.

The next Monday at school, my crush did speak to me--PLUS 1. But he said, "What's up yolk pants!"-Minus 2. Looking back, "yolk pants" is kind of a lame joke, but the 7th grade Becca was not as quick/witty as the 25 year old Becca. So my response was to cry and run to the bathroom. My popular friend came in after me and in a moment of brilliant consolement told me, "Hey, it's ok. He is just saying that to you because he is totally in love with you. I know because I heard from his best friend that he told the whole soccer team about how you got egged and how funny it was." Yup, great job best friend. THere is nothing like knowing that entire group of pre-pubescent boys are laughing at you for getting pegged in the leg with an egg by a bunch of country ass high schoolers.

Ever since that Halloween, I have never been fully into the holiday. I always tell myself I am going to try to think of a creative costume but I never quite do it. Maybe it is because I was so emotionally wounded that night in 1997. Maybe that egg did more damage then just ruining my favorite pair of jeans. Maybe that egg and that night have made me a cold callus woman, incapable of finding the most kick ass costume. Or maybe I am just lazy and lack creativity. Let's be honest here, as an adult, Halloween is just another excuse to get ass backwards hammered and make really poor life choices, and I am pretty good at doing that on a consistent basis. Here-to-for, a creative Halloween costume is not necessary. But that reason doesn't really paint me in the best light, so I will stick to the 7th grade emotionally scarring experience.

Taubel--OUT