My friend Carey from work had a kid-friendly Halloween party last night; Chooch and I were so excited that we did our makeup hours before we left the house and then proceeded to wipe blood on Henry while he was trying to take a nap.
Of course though, I waited until the day before to think to myself, “I should probably find a costume.” I still don’t have my costume for the Trundle Manor party next week either, but for Carey’s party, I opted for an old tattered nightgown that I bought a few years ago from Goodwill specifically for the photo shoot portion of Chooch’s zombie birthday party. (That particular party was also the origin of “douche cup,” for anyone writing an oral history of Chooch slang.)
Thank god I never throw shit like that away.
I stuffed Chooch in his pj’s, equipped us both with a stuffed animal and slapped us with the Slumber Party Zombies label. I put minimal effort into everything I do.
It was a pretty weak concept, but Chooch’s doofus zombie act is worn out by now and I had nothing else to wear. Henry refused to dress up, so I told people he was our meal. (Because “douchebag” isn’t a costume, it’s his everyday uniform.)
We got to Carey’s and her partner Liz’s house and Chooch immediately walked off like he had been there a dozen times, helping himself to food and exploring the bathroom. (He is fascinated by other people’s bathrooms.) Then Liz put the hockey game on and I became That Person who sits at a party and watches a sporting event instead of mingling. (I did talk to people though; Henry was proud. This was actually not very hard to accomplish because all of their friends were normal and nice and not once did I have to steal off to a dark corner and imagine certain heads exploding.) I caught myself at one point, during the last few minutes of the third period, literally cuddling my stuffed elephant and biting my nails, like I was for real at a slumber party watching a scary movie.
There were other kids there so Chooch ran off with them and Henry and I we mildly concerned at first because hello, it’s Chooch; but then I remembered I had a near-empty glass of wine and went back to being concerned about getting a refill.
Eating small meatballs. Carey had lots of vegetarian-friendly cheese possibilities as well. I love party food.
When other guests found out I work with Carey, they would ask, “Oh, are you a lawyer, too?” and the absurdity of it would make me laugh quietly to myself. And when asked, Henry would tell people he’s a warehouse manager for a beverage company, at which point I would rabidly interject, “He delivers FAYGO!”
It never gets old to me.
I’m so supportive of him.
Chooch and his new enemy.
What a fun night. And Chooch didn’t do anything douchey, break any vases or cut their cat’s ear. Can it just stay October forever?No tags for this post.