The Horrors of Halloween

I have recently been introduced to this holiday which is called Halloween. I am positive that you do not know of such a holiday, as all of my readers are too high class for such a horrid affair. As  that is the case, I will do my best to explain this holiday to you. First of all, the term holiday is facetious as there is nothing less holy than this day. Everybody who is ill enough in their minds to participate in this despicable endeavor is forced to pretend to be something other than they are in order to scare each other. My parents were exceedingly proficient at frightening the world with our costumes which were somehow matching. My father dressed up as two things at once, an Italian and a plumber. I have not the foggiest clue what either of those things are, but I am offended for both of those classes of people for his portrayal of them. The only good thing about his costume was that he had this thing called a mustache. It's hilarious, you just have to see it. I laughed my diaper off (nearly literally). My mother was dressed as me. You can tell when I am especially dissatisfied with the service around here when I refer to my parental units as Mother and Father instead of my more colloquial Mommy and Daddy. They did not deserve these titles on the days we dressed up. Oh, yes, I forgot to mention that fact: This holiday does not just take place on one night, but multiple. It should, thus, be referred to as a holiweek and not a holiday. This meant that many people saw me in my costume, which I am mortified to even mention in such a classy medium as this one. Alright, here it is: I was dressed as a male, and not just any male, either. This particular male is named after some slimy beast, from what I can gather, and apparently goes galavanting around the countryside wearing nothing more than a diaper, a vest, and a red spotted beanie. You just have to see this horror to believe it.

You are kidding me, right? You are not truly taking me out in this, are you?

Parental units, I regret to inform you of this, but people can see us. I shall hide behind this vest.

You are legitimately expecting a smile out of me? That fact alone nearly makes me want to smile. Nearly.

These nincompoops took me out in public like that, and then pushed me around in a stroller outside. Mother stated she felt bad for not clothing me more. I was silent and let the guilt rip at their consciences like my fingernails on their skin when they have not been cut for a day or two.

As I stated earlier, they did this twice: once to a party that my father's work apparently put on, and once to a much smaller party. Both times were dismal.

Between those "party" days, we went to a person's house (they had a kitty, but it was much smaller than the ones I had grown to love) and then to something called a corn maze, or a place where I can be pushed around in a stroller in the dark for an hour over extremely bumpy ground. I showed my parents their mistake by projecting the former contents of my bottle all over my mother, after which they promptly took me home. Perhaps I should have attempted that tactic on my father at the Halloween "parties".