“How high’s the water, mama?”

Between the running water of my dishdoing and Johnny Cash crooning through my stereo, I barely heard the door.

It figures. Just when I am starting to think Vincent has disowned me, he shows up with a bottle of Tuscan Sangiovese and a dozen orange tulips. I don’t know if he’s spatting with Camille or just misses me, and I don’t really care either way. It was perfect medicine for me. I have been staying in and feeling ill since Sunday.

We took our time drinking the wine and discussed Halloween. It’s sort of our anniversary, and we try to spend it together each year. I think this is the longest I’ve ever waited to figure out a Halloween costume. I suppose it’s only normal, my getting older and all, to not care as much as I did back when I was a kid, or high school even. But especially because of all the time we’ve been spending apart, I didn’t expect to be doing much this year. I actually thought I might go in to the bar, see if they needed extra help.

I think I’m over that idea. Vincent inspired me to continue our tradition, dress up and wreak havoc as usual. The verdict is in: Margot Tenenbaum it is. I have to get to the Lacoste store. And I highly suspect I’ve talked Vincent into building me a wooden finger cover. I have a fur coat and everything, it should be easy enough.

The worst part about Halloween is the people. Anywhere you go, you’ve got like four categories of people: the sluts that are going to choose the most obvious costumes imaginable (French maid, whore cop, Blink 182 nurse, ass-showing Dorothy, etc), the people that don’t want to really think at all about something original or something you could put together yourself rather than buying standardized costumes at Party City or something (these are sometimes sluts too), the people who decide to take the opportunity to dress “goth,” which really isn’t a costume but they’ve got all the shit because they were all about it in high school (surprisingly enough, these people can be as annoying as the sluts, more so if they are the “slut goth”), and the people who think so much about being original and irreverent that they come off as hipster, arrogant. That category usually contains me. But I feel pretty good about the fact that this one just came out of air, seems relatively easy and still is cool.

In any case, I’m no longer worried about my estranged relationship with Vincent, I am now looking forward to Halloween, and I think I may even go out after work tonight. Drew called me earlier to ask me what I’m doing Wednesday. I’ll be happy to tell him I have a prior engagement.

I think I may have inspired Vincent as well. He’s decided to be Johnny Cash.


1 Response to ““How high’s the water, mama?””

  1. October 31, 2007 at 11:49 am

    I am disguised as Shaun, from Shaun of the Dead today. So far, one person has taken one look at me and got it immediately. A shame she’s so hot and extremely married. Such is life.

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