Scary.

“What are you supposed to be?”

I stood there wearing my mom’s scrubs with fake blood strewn about.

“A dead nurse.”

A few years before, they stuck me in a high school band uniform, Q-tip hat and all. Ta-dah—what every child aspires to be: an acne-ridden teenager.


Oh, Halloween. What a mile marker you have become in my life. The winds of change that are your late 20s begin to roll in and you’re left feeling like Alfred Hitchcock in a movie theater that’s showing Insidious. Here’s how things change:

· Your digestive system revolts. It’s like I woke up one day and my intestines were like, “Hey. You. Remember how you used to eat cat food out of the garage when you were 4? Here’s looking at you, kid.” Taco Bell is now your mortal enemy, created for the quick demise of any part of your body that has the potential to mortify you. And all that candy? Just say: “Trick or Treat, smell my feet, mix some Miralax with my drink."

· Candy is freakin’ expensive. I’m sorry. But I worked for 3 hours to pay for all this candy. Your kid is going to have to do better than a camo shirt and a Sharpie-d beard to get two Snickers bars. That’s chocolate gold. Here’s some Smarties.

· You realize you have no idea who’s famous anymore. Hannah Montana has been my go-to kid reference for years. That dream just sailed away on a wrecking ball and the Jonas brothers broke up (how do brothers break up?) Now I have to study up before tonight. Do they still watch Monster High?

· Farm animals are the new fishnet. When you’re 27, most everyone has thankfully abandoned the desire to be a promiscuous public servant for the holiday. Maybe the sexy cop costume worked because now you could pretty much sing your newsfeed to the tune of “Old MacDonald.” And on that farm he had a baby sheep, a baby cow, a baby chick, E-I-E-I-Ooooooh, I need to Instagram another picture of my kid.

Happy Halloween, boys and ghouls. I’ve always wanted to say that in a creepy voice. There you have it.