The year was 1999. The date, October 29th. A distressed Doris Jensen, mother to the two most precious three year olds in existence, tore through the family home in search of perfection. “Perfection?”, You ask, “Perfection of what”? A home Pledge would be proud to endorse, a cookie recipe so beautiful heavens horns rang out, or maybe, just maybe, she was seeking a curler to wrap her larger than life bangs around in just the right fashion? All valid guesses, but alas all incorrect. Doris Jensen was in search of inspiration and she found it in the form of tinfoil. Two days later, on a Halloween night, she wrapped her children in layers upon layers of tinfoil until they could move no more and presented them to the public as Hershey kisses. The irony was not lost on me that we were dressed as the very thing we were not allowed to ingest.
Needless to say, that was the last Halloween my mother “made” our costumes (that task was passed down to the handy-dandy Grandma). Despite my mothers best efforts (unfortunately that was her best) Devin and I never really took to the idea of Halloween. I’m terrified of clowns (that gem can be credited to the Selkirk Movie Rental for playing Killer Clowns from Outer Space in the kids section in 2000) and prone to crying while Devin is terrified of me getting lost in large crowds. Therefore a night dedicated to hoards of people and the occasional clown running around in chaos was not ideal for either one of us.
The other issue was that we rarely ever chose our own costumes (which was actually for the better; sincere apologies to all the poorly replicated boy band members. As middle school girls we didn’t understand that dressing as 30 year old male punk rockers would probably be scarring for both child and parent). Both our Mother and Grandma encouraged us to do co-costumes since they were “cute” aka it’s easier to make and you can repeat it in 6 years without anyone knowing. I’ve already explained how different Devin and I are in previous posts, but just to reiterate I’m not completely sure we came out of the same woman. There’s a solid chance Devin shot out of Martha Stewart; crafty with hands and mind. She can also cook things that look really gross but taste really good (classic pre-prison Martha).
So for every year that we couldn’t decide or agree on a costume, Mom picked for us. The most notable ones will forever be etched into my mind out of sheer discomfort and/or the body weight lost in tears. There was the Hershey kiss incident of ’99 followed by the Dragon Defamation. We were forced into hideous wool, green suits with bright yellow and red triangles glued on them to look like scales. The suits literally covered everything but our faces. They were hot, they were ugly, they were the last thing you should put a kid who has just barely gained control of their bowels in. We both cried so aggressively that we didn’t even make it out of the house that night or half way through pictures.
Next came the years of the princess. I had (and still have) a huge adoration for Princess Aurora, better known by her street name, Sleeping Beauty. I had a satin all pink Princess Costume that was nicer than my prom dress and will probably be recreated for my wedding dress (sorry future husband, we already know I’m probably going to dump you for my 16 cats anyways). I wore it year round and acted like a little princess *bitch* year round. For three years I wore that costume. Devin, showing her true feminist colors at the ripe age of 7, chose a different route. I went as prince dependent Sleeping Beauty, Devin went as Gender defying Mulan. I went as vain looks obsessed Sleeping Beauty, Devin went as Snow White the woman who lived and commanded 7 little men for years. I went as the idiot who was tricked by an inanimate object, Devin went as intergalactic Bad Ass Princess Leia (*side note Auroras roots may be showing but that blonde can still rock a pink power ensemble*).
Next came the jungle creatures. Again, these were suits that showed nothing but our faces (I have a feeling Dad had a hand in this). I think that I had requested to be a black panther and Devin a lion but that never happened. Instead, Grandma just picked up random animal print fabrics and made a body suit with tails and mittens out of them. I have no idea what animal I was but I guarantee I could sell that outfit at an underground Furry Convention.
The dastardly witches followed suit, in which Devin and I had purple and orange floor length dresses and spider web capes. Kind of cool. Except that random patches of our hair were dyed to match our outfits, and did not come out for months. No wonder everyone thought my favorite color was purple, my head was half lilac. 
The 50’s girls hit the scene in 5th grade. Pink and purple once again ruling the color scheme, we were outfitted in huge over the top wool skirts, with cotton ball poodles and little silk chokers to match. This one would have been fun if Devin and I ever acted like girls; we both detested dresses and skirts. Now for a whole day we were forced to wear one that drew the most attention to any child every because it took up 3/4th’s of ones body.
Finally, 6th grade, Devin and I chose our own costumes. Which basically never happened again. Probably one of the few kind things our mother has done for our social reputations. I chose to be a present, which meant that instead of a cute bow and shirt, i walked around in a giant cardboard box with tons of ribbon and wrapping paper on it. And I kept my candy in the box. So basically I asked people to reach their hand into a deep empty crevice attached to my body because thats where I kept all my treats. I was the preteen equivalent of the old man driving around the windowless van filled with puppies. Devin went as Thing 1 which really didn’t work without Thing 2; clearly I was a heartless child because I left Thing 1 hanging.
Presently, halloween has become an enjoyable holiday, mostly because were no longer the ones dressing up (we’re the ones buying all the day after candy). Honestly though, I cannot wait to inflict my child with those same horrible costumes; I already look like my mother so I might as well act like her.
Until next Halloween,
jk there’ll be something up next week
Danika Eve
