Halloween leaves me frightened
I live a dichotomous life. I love Halloween, but I hate to be frightened.
It goes back to my childhood. Picture it: I was a little boy playing hide-and-seek. I’d crouch behind the couch, hiding. I would get so nervous that when the seeker entered the room, I’d jump up and say, “I’m over here!”
It was not my best game.
It’s a good thing I never went to war.
I’d be in the bunker jumping up and down and the sergeant would be all, “What are you doing?” I would answer, “I want them to know where we are. Once they find us, maybe they’ll go off and attack someone else.”
Sadly, war doesn’t work like hide-and-seek.
I’m not good with scary movies.
I do like watching suspenseful ones, except I remember not breathing for the last 30 minutes of “Argo.” I was like, “Get on the plane. Get on the plane. Take off. Take off. Oh my God! Get in the air! Get in the air!” Instead of popcorn, that movie should have come with an oxygen tank.
Oddly enough, during the movie “Gravity” I was all, “Get on the ground. Get on the ground. Oh my God, she landed in the ocean!”
P.S. It’s been around. I don’t have to call spoilers.
It’s hard loving Halloween and hating the scary part. Not everyone can dress up as fairies, princesses and superheroes. Some people have to be monsters, murderers and creatures of the night.
Side note: It’s hilarious to me there is a scantily clad version of EVERYTHING. I saw a Darth Vader costume for women that came with a black miniskirt and cape. I’m surprised there wasn’t a caption on the sales tag that read: “For the nerdy girl who doesn’t want to be a cheerleader or Playboy Bunny, but still wants to be mistaken for a streetwalker on the South Side: Darth Floozy.”
But I digress, like I do. I still play along with my friends. I go to the ScareHouse and get the bejesus scared out of me.
Call me crazy, but I don’t think being chased by a guy with a chainsaw is fun. At ScareHouse, there’s a guy who dresses in a bunny rabbit outfit, and even he is terrifying. A bunny rabbit, of all things!
To hide my fear, I tend to use sarcasm.
A zombie oozing with blood and pus will come up to me, and I will say, “You might want to consult a dermatologist.”
I sort of ruin the mood. I’m not being a jerk intentionally. It’s a coping mechanism. At one haunted fun house, I had to crawl on my hands and knees through a few dark tunnels and tubes.
It was sort of like being in a haunted hamster habitat (say that three times fast). I was petrified.
It’s hard to crack wise when you’re on all fours. It’s probably why horses aren’t very funny.
Halloween is such a fun time of year.
You can be anything you want to be. I want to be someone brave.