In my 37 years, I have never missed a Halloween; I have never NOT dressed up. This year was no exception. Sandy and I were Dia de los Muertos Sugar Skulls and we were just too cute. Her and I went to Austin to see ‘Chewy Spewis & The Screws’ (George DeVores ‘Huey Lewis & The News’ cover band) at the Rattle Inn and they were spectacular. They would’ve rocked my socks off had I been wearing socks. Instead, I wore heels and we parked at 11th & Guadalupe. The Rattle Inn is at 6th & Nueces. Not cool. Anyway, we had a fab time, saw some great costumes, danced the night away, and drank beer. Lots and lots of beer. When the show was over, we hit the heart of 6th street and drank even more beer until I couldn’t stand walking past the food trucks and street vendors. I broke down and bought the most delicious slice of pizza I’ve ever eaten. Or maybe it was because I had drank so much beer. The night came to an end, we trekked back to the car, and got home at 3am.
When my phone rang at 6:30am I was certain it was a bad dream. It stopped ringing by the time I found it and figured out how to answer. It was my daughter Mikayla calling from her bedroom. Before I could call her back, she sent me a text simply saying,
“Imma stay home”
I couldn’t blame her. Hell, if I could, I would’ve texted my boss the same thing. She’s only missed 1 day of school this year. I stumbled out of bed, went to brush my teeth, looked at myself in the mirror and remembered I had dyed my hair black yesterday AND I had went to bed without washing my face. Awesome. My sugar skull make-up was smeared, my hair was a rats nest and Sandy pulled into my driveway before I could even put clothes on. I threw all my stuff in a bag, slipped on a sundress sans bra (where did I leave that thing?) and slowly walked outside. Her and I made eye contact and we gave each other THAT look. You know, the “I-don’t-remember-getting-hit-by-a-Mack-truck-but-I’m-certain-it-happened-at-some-point-last-night” look. Yeah. My feet and head were throbbing in unison and I thought I might throw up in my lap.
We stopped at McDonald’s for a large caramel frappe, no whipped cream, sausage biscuits & hash browns. I dropped Sandy off at her office, we divvied up the McBreakfast and realized they gave us 2 extra hash browns! Things were looking up! I love it when fast food makes an error in our favor, but that won’t make up for all the times they’ve royally screwed me over. Since we carpool and she has to be to work at 8am, I get here an hour early so I usually just do my hair and make-up in my office. Not today. It’s 10am and I still haven’t brushed my hair. I put it up in a sloppy bun. Not a cute sloppy bun like so many girls can do, but a “I-didn’t-know-what-to-do-with-this” sloppy bun. The bags under my eyes are packed for an extended-stay vacation and the purple/pink sugar skull make-up that won’t wipe off with dampened paper towels is only accentuating that.
What happened to me? Going out on a week night is nothing new for me. I can hang with the best of them. I would write it off as “being too old for this shit,” but I’m not ready to accept that. Maybe when I’m 40. Then, when someone asks if I want to go out on a Wednesday I can send them a text simply saying,
“Imma stay home”