I normally would’ve mentored Ernie today. Only, the tyke was out sick. Apparently, after his valiant but failed effort to give me the flu, he caught it himself. Odds are he’ll be out the rest of the week, so no mentoring tale this afternoon. That’s okay, since I’ve got plenty to say about Halloween instead.
The costume and candy holiday has come and gone once more, but not before saddling our poor dog with the latest affront to his manhood.
For the past couple of weeks, I’ve known Sophia planned to dress Prometheus up for the holiday. When she ventured off to purchase his costume, I’d given her strict instructions: “Make sure you buy something manly. It’s bad enough he had his balls removed; he doesn’t need to confuse his masculinity further with a French maid’s costume!”
Slyly, my wife waited until late afternoon yesterday to unveil the pooch’s outfit. She ambushed me shortly before the first trick-or-treaters arrived. After ogling the dog in costume, I nearly had a cow: “What the hell, Sophia?! You said you’d buy something manly!”
“I did! There’s nothing unmanly about a skeleton.”
“Really, Sophia? You don’t find anything the least bit feminine about a skeleton with fuchsia accents, not to mention a skeleton wearing a pink hairclip?”
“Quit your whining, Richard. Prometheus needs a clip to keep the hair out of his eyes, and pink is a perfectly fine color. Anyway, dogs are colorblind; so what’s it matter?”
“What’s it matter?!! Judging by the pelvic bones alone, that skeleton plainly belongs to a woman who’s given birth! And even worse, the skull looks suspiciously like a pair of boobs!”
Naturally, as with most of our arguments, I lost. I spent the evening seething inwardly as children and their parents oohed and aahed over a mutt dressed like an x-ray of Jennifer Lopez. Internally, I added an “I told you so” each time I heard someone comment: “She’s so cute!” Externally, I flashed Sophia an evil glare after every one of those announcements.
At one point, a little boy burst into tears and cowered behind his mother after seeing Prometheus. Sophia offered me her “who’s unmanly now?” look, before soothingly telling the child: “Don’t be afraid; that’s just our puppy, not a real skeleton; you won’t get hurt.”
An older trick-or-treater answered for the boy: “It’s not your dog he’s afraid of; it’s her pink hairclip. His sister wears the same one, and she’s really mean to him.”