Sunday, November 1, 2009

Happy Halloween, You Son of a Bitch

I have a problem. It's a big problem, bigger than my addiction to Gatorade, bigger than the fact that I think Dolly Parton is awesome. (Given the chance, I would have seen 9 to 5. I regret it now.) So here's my issue: I say son of a bitch. A lot. Probably more than anyone else I know. Seriously. My ratio of son of a bitches per hour is probably one of the highest in the world. It is my stock phrase whenever something goes wrong, so if I drop my phone in the driveway or keep messing up the intro to Maybe This Time, it's the first thing out of my mouth.

It's not like I actually direct this phrase at anyone. It's more of an expression of frustration, and a constant source of irritation to Lenora and my poor, harried mother. But the phrase is rooted in our national culture. It is Violet's first line in August: Osage County. Roxie Hart says it after she shoots Fred Casely. Jenny says it multiple times in Company. I'm pretty sure Mary Lincoln was thinking it that night at Ford's Theatre.


It's not exactly like I've got a mouth like a Second Avenue hooker. (Though that works on two levels, doesn't it?) Aside from the occasional damn it and the more than occasional son of a bitch, I am strictly after school special.


So last night was Halloween. After a day spent in Jersey with my cousin, I trekked back home. I've spent every Halloween of my life with Maisie, and I had no intention of breaking the chain. Lenora, don't be insulted. You can't buck tradition. She was a pirate and I was a very adorable clown. The two of us decided to take our chances and ventured out to a haunted house/the cornmaze from hell. Maisie, her mother, and I were linked like a human chain as we stepped into the cornmaze. And it was AWFUL. It was raining, we kept getting lost, it was dark, and things were popping out at us around every bend. By this time I was making the horrible, guttural sounds of a wounded animal, and saying things that made me grateful my mother wasn't with me. It was worse once we got into the house. Literally, it was like walking into a nightmare, with creepy clowns contorting themselves at the end of a polka dotted hallway. I started crying and screaming about how much I hated clowns. The irony did not strike me until Maisie pointed it out. True, I was a shivering wreck, from my tiny hat right down to my flowery galoshes.

So here's what I've learned: I am young. I will do many things in my lifetime. But I will never, ever, do that again.

1 comment:

sing~A~ling said...

haha..ironic! dont worry about Halloween...sounds like you had fun..i on the other hand came back from tarrytown, sleepy hollow at 10:00...then discovering that alana wanted to be driven to the city---so we went from upstate new york to princeton to Manhattan to staten island...i was in the car 3/4 of the time...it was uber fun!-- the sarcastic bride of Frankenstein said.