364 days until Halloween


Cry away your monster makeup. Wallow through your sugar hangover. It’s time to take a black or orange marker to your calendar — let it squeak in sadness — and note the next best day of your life: one whole year from now.

There are 364 days until Halloween. Cry away; pop your PEZ. You need to gobble up your chocolates before they melt. Trade those sour things you hate for those nutty things you love; it may not be 2008’s recession, but the sugary goods market is collapsing quick. Shit is no longer just scary; it’s real. Ration your candy. Bust out your toothbrush. Entertain healthy alternatives. It’s time to make a salad.

Pay your dentist a visit and promise this time you’ll floss. Scrub your gums good, but don’t forget your bicuspids. And before you go to sleep, just try to forget about the whole thing. Last night is over. Drown your festive, childish memories with Listerine.

I’m sorry to tell you, but you are no longer an astronaut, a dinosaur, a pirate, a mermaid, a knight, a cowboy or a ghost. I’m sorry to crush your dreams. There are 364 days until Halloween: take that sheet off your head and do your laundry. Hang up your vampire teeth, put away your swords, take off your mask and polish your shoes. Put on your pants, button your buttons, tuck in your shirt and tie your goddamn tie.

There is something strange in your neighbourhood, but it’s just your landlord. Handouts are over; it’s time to buy your own candy and pay your rent. Gut your pumpkins and make some pie. And please hole up in your own home. Leave your neighbours alone.

The trick’s on you. The day of fantasy is over. Stop envisioning your secret crush as a muscly gladiator or a medieval princess. There are 364 days until Halloween. You who love vampires and zombies have nowhere to hide; you will be relentlessly pursued not by these nightmarish figures, but by the mundane concerns of the everyday.

There are 364 days until Halloween. Shelve your horror movies, go to bed at a decent hour, dress your age. And won’t you please stop doing that thing you call the mash? There are 364 days until Halloween — at which point I recommend you don a pair of green ballerina tights, nab your grandpa’s loafers, use the wax wrapper off a Subway sandwich for a conical hat if you can’t make it to your local craft store to buy felt, sprinkle some glitter on your face for pixie dust and pray to God you can fly to Never Land.