Monday, November 01, 2004

My Mother Is A Big Fat Cow

Halloween has officially come and's November. I miss October because you can still be delusional in October. Maybe your flipflops were still at the front door, or your patio furniture was still out, or you could still see the remnants of your tan if you squinted at yourself in the mirror. But November is a whole new ballpark: winter is coming and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. So for me, Halloween is a bit bitter-sweet. Granted, this year's was probably the warmest Halloween that I ever remember. No need for snowsuits under the costumes this year, although I know two people for whom that wouldn't have been a problem: my mom, and her friend Joan.

Every year Mom and Joan delight in picking out outrageous costumes. This year my mom went as a cow, and Joan as a crazy butcher. Their costumes, if you can imagine, were inflatable. Once you put it on, a little fan blew air into the costumes, puffing it out and making my mother the fattest cow I have ever seen. That just made my Halloween.

So now I am bravely facing November because honestly, I don't have much choice. Jason loves this time of year because he knows he looks so handsome in sweaters, but I on the other hand, have a hatred of bulky clothing. They makes me feel constricted and claustrophobic. I abhor winter coats. I look silly in hats. There is no such thing as a stylish snowboot so I freeze my toes wearing my cute stilletos. And this will go on for the next 5 frigid months, months that seem interminable. I hate snow. I hate the cold. I hate sleigh rides and jingle bells and runny noses and the whole bit. But when it comes to the weather, no one ever consults me. Just once I would like to be the boss of the weather. A white Christmas is nice in theory, but in reality it means shovelling, scraping the car, slipping on the sidewalk and showing your knickers to a bunch of strangers. Oh boy, I can hardly wait.

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