As our friend Tom so eloquently stated, “Halloween was designed for hooking up. This is a holiday where you can rely on your costume to draw attention instead of your boring personality and average looks.”
Add alcohol into this mix and you have people getting down with members of the opposite sex (or same sex if the costume is really good) whom they would never normally touch with a 10-foot pole foam finger.
I fell victim to this in 2008. I was dressed as a “walk of shame”–dude’s boxers and dress shirt, heels, bra hanging out, one earring, smeared mascara, ratty ponytail, you get the picture.
And just in case not, here it is:
We went to a big Halloween party, I slipped into my typical 25-year-old brownout, and then I met a dude. I don’t remember all the details (shocker), but he was in an Indiana Jones getup–no mask, but definitely a hat hiding his face, and figure-covering brown clothing. I was obviously wearing vodka goggles so he looked like the real Indiana Jones to me, but in reality, he probably more closely resembled this guy. I ended up going home with him (FML) and I’m sure we made out or something (again, the details are foggy), and I woke up (still drunk) in his bed. I asked myself the typical 20-something questions in my head: Where am I? What’s the last thing I remember? Is there someone else in the bed with me? How can I get out of here quickly and quietly?
And that’s when I finally decided to (stealthily) turn around and inspect the person lying next to me…and it was not good. It was bad. Very very bad.
And then…
Wait for it…
HE FARTED.
I have never moved that fast in my entire life. I jumped out of the bed, put on my heels, grabbed my purse (thank God these necessities were close by), stumbled to the first door to the outside world I could find, and literally RAN AWAY FROM THE HOUSE in horror.
I was frantically running around in the middle of Virginia Highlands in a walk-of-shame costume, but actually doing the walk-of-shame. The irony…was epic.
I called a friend and she rescued me, then we went to brunch (duh) and laughed about it. After that, I made a pact with myself to ease up on my drinking (yeah right) and erased the “The Worst Guy I Ever Went Home With” from my memory.
Then the unthinkable happened.
He found me.
At the gym.
And came right up to me ON THE TREADMILL (who does that?!) and proceeded to ask me why I bolted out of his house after Halloween. I took off running again…only this time, in place.
I don’t even remember what I mumbled, but as soon as I removed myself from the MOST AWKWARD RUN-IN EVER, I sprinted out of LA Fitness Midtown and never went back to that location again. It was haunted with ghosts of Halloween Past.
Happy Halloween, y’all. If you get drunk tonight, be afraid. Be very afraid.
LYLAS,
Ashley