I went as a vampire. My costume was a study in simplicity: plastic teeth, fake blood and a trash bag for a cape. Bammer went as a Kent State protestor. He wore his mom's wig and painted a red dot in the middle of his forehead.
Within an hour, a dog took my cape, the teeth broke and the fake blood-ketchup separated. The rest of the night I went as a sugar- and grease-smeared idiot.
We didn't do well. Our combined take was half a pillowcase of Smarties, gum, some loose popcorn, a Jesus pamphlet and roughly 2,000 insults.
These days I work the other side of the Halloween door. It's still a tough job though. The number of children in my Herriman neighborhood exceeds the population of China.
Beginning at 4 p.m., I wear out the door hinges greeting a mob of barely continent ninjas, clowns, spooks, princesses and whatevers. Around midnight I shut off the lights, throw the pumpkin into the street and nail the door shut.
This year will be different. We've been invited to a Halloween costume party. Apparently it's for grown-ups because the word "costume" is underlined. Kids wouldn't need to be reminded to dress up.
It's an "adult" Halloween party, but I prefer the word "grown-up." These days an adult Halloween party sounds like the sort of get-together where you may as well show up wearing a mask and nothing else.
Neighbors Matt and Jenn are responsible for the invitation that rekindled the age-old worry of what to be for Halloween. Resolving it used to be easier.
None of the old standbys will work. I'm too fat and old to be a credible vampire, accident victim, ghoul or zombie anymore - no matter how much ketchup I slather on.
I asked my granddaughter, a Halloween expert, what I should be. She said that I might consider dressing up as "a nice princess kitty," like her. Hmm, not while I have my strength I won't.
Her younger brother Gage is going as whatever outfit he can be stuffed into with the least amount of fight. He won't appreciate wearing a costume until he realizes that candy comes with it.
I could go as a cop. I still have the uniform hanging around here somewhere. I better not. With my luck, a robbery would go down, and everyone would want me to do something about it.
Maybe I should dress up as a nouveau witch. Wicca is fashionable enough these days that the costume wouldn't be a lot of work. The cone-style hat, black dress, and pointy shoes are out. You can get a modern witch's costume off the rack at Sears.
Maybe I'll go as a street preacher. All I need is a T-shirt that says "Jesus" on it and a sign with a message that would get me beaten senseless in any country other than America.
On the other hand, to inspire true fear and loathing, maybe I'll just stick a pen in my pocket and go as a journalist.
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Salt Lake Tribune columnist Robert Kirby welcomes mail at 90 S. 400 West, Suite 700, Salt Lake City, UT 84101, or e-mail at rkirby@sltrib.com.
