Happy Halloween!

I ended up kind of getting in the spirit and wearing my kilt to work today. It is more comfortable than my khakis. Sadly, I can't go regimental at work. If there was a wardrobe malfunction, everyone would freak out. Usually, however, when someone asks me what I wear under my kilt, I say "Boots and socks." What you are supposed to say is "You have to find that out for yourself." That lasted about 28 seconds at the first bear party where I wore the kilt. They had it lifted up before I got to the buffet.

To those of you wondering, no, I cannot authentically wear a kilt. I can wear Campbell plaid, (through marriage only), but Campbell plaid is not that attractive. I wear Dress Stewart plaid, which, along with Black Watch Plaid, are the two "open" plaids that anyone can wear, although presumably you are supposed to be Scottish. Still no Scottish blood found in the family tree, although I found out this year there is some Irish blood. (Yeah, look at my coloring and act surprised.) So we're moving closer. For truth's sake though, I actually just enjoy wearing a kilt. It's comfortable, and there's nothing like walking through a room full of people at a party with your tackle swinging free WooHOO! Plus my legs are really my best feature, I think, and I like showing them off . Hey, I may be a vain ho, but at least I'm an honest vain ho.

One of the times I wore it to a party, there was a real Scot there. I avoided him most of the party, because some Scots are offended if you just adopt their native costume because the look appeals to you. I was really dreading questions about my clan. Towards the end of the party, just as I was starting to breathe more easily, he walked up behind me, and said "Well, you've got the legs for it." He was very nice about the whole thing, and stopped and talked to me for a while. Straight as a stick of course, dammit, although he had GREAT shoes, since he really was from there. He also had the brogue, and between that, and gorgeous wavy dark hair, and those snapping black eyes, he had the hormones beating their pulse of animal lust in my ears. I had a really time following what he was saying. So I just stood there nodding and smiling, and I'm sure looking like a complete git. But I got through it.

There is definitely something about wearing a kilt that gets you a lot of attention. On the way to a Christmas party one year, a clerk at Walgreen's practically propositioned my right there in the store. Word to you straight guys out there - women love kilts. I almost always get hit on by women when I'm wearing mine, for some reason.

Another thing women seem to find fascinating is a pocket watch. I used to carry one all the time, because I dislike having things around my wrist. It has been for the most part replaced by my phone at this point, but a pocket watch does seem to draw women. It's like an ice-breaker they feel comfortable with, for some reason, asking to see y0ur watch. I was in an elevator in Vegas one time, dressed up because I was at a company function. A woman got on and said "Hey, I wanna see what's in your pocket." As I explained, she came up to me and said "I'm gonna pull your chain." She then pulled the watch out of my pocket, and proceeded to Ooh and Aah over it - "It's soooo pretty!". This woman was not visibly drunk, nor did she appear to be a call girl. That was the most overt thing about the watch, but I have had plenty of women ask me about it, back when I carried one. So if there are any straight guys out there reading this, take note.

I think you get to a certain age where you are just suddenly "husband material". It was odd for me when it started happening. Lately I have had more women than usual hit on me, and it has taken a bit of getting used to. When I was younger, it always happened in the laundromat, unfortunately. It was always some woman with more children than teeth going "Hey, didn't we go to high school together?" I figured out, eventually, that women know when a man is in the laundromat, alone, doing his laundry, he has no one else in the world to do it. I was SO glad when I bought my house and didn't have to go any more. Ugh. I really hated it, and not just because of the women hitting on me either. It was depressing.

Weird that I ended up talking about women making passes at me LOL

***

I made my butternut squash soup last night, and although it was OK, it wasn't really a show-stopper, so I'm not going to post the recipe. The search continues. I may make this one again, because I may have used too much veggie "chicken" flavored broth in it. In some things it works very well, but winter squash has a delicate flavor, and I may have overpowered it. Next time I will try using just bouillon and see how it comes out.

I was trying to get my chores out of the way so I could answer the door tonight. I love seeing the little kids in their Halloween costumes. Sadly, I don't get nearly as many as I used to. It makes me sad that people don't trust each other enough to go trick-or-treating any more. When I was a kid, we went all over the place. It was so much fun. I had this Casper the Ghost costume that I LOVED. I wanted to wear it all the time. I'm sure the parties and stuff are nice, but there's nothing like really being outside, running around in the dark, from lighted porch to lighted porch, and being just a bit scared, and never knowing exactly what was behind the next door. I'm sorry that most kids today don't get to experience that. So I always give out candy to the ones that do.

In my neighborhood, I mostly get two types of trick-or-treaters:

1) Fat redneck women with babies and bags, obviously going around to show off the baby and get free candy. The babies are usually at least in costume, but it always feels like a gyp to me. The child obviously gets nothing out of this, and she is obviously going to eat the candy herself. I feel a rant coming on about the proper care and handling of children, coming soon to a blog near you....

2) Teenagers out to score free candy. Some of these are as big as I am, and mostly not even wearing a costume. They're just going door to door carrying a sack. Also obviously just out for free candy. I still give it to them, since I don't want the house or the car egged. But it pisses me off, and honestly, I am a bit scared to open the door to some of them. That's why I always have the good candy too. Chocolate. No little boxes of raisins or hard candies for me.

But the cuties, the few who are out for the right reasons, at the right age, are a joy. It makes me happy to hear their little "thank you"s from behind their little masks. So I leave the porch light on. Because I'd like to be a part (at least a little part) of some child's happy memories.

Favorite trick-or-treat stories:

I had a good friend whose parents had never taken her trick-or-treating. She had never worn a Halloween costume. She was in her thirties. When I heard about that, it upset me. At the time, I lived in an old house that was cut up into apartments. I lived next door to some good friends, and we were all really into Halloween. The house was old and kind of scary-looking anyway, and we had the whole front of it decorated, complete with black lights, cobwebs, and scary sound effects. People came from all over to see the house and let the kids get candy. It was quite a production. When I told my friends about this woman's past, they just took her into their apartment. In about 30 minutes she was in a full witch's costume, from hat to cape to makeup. The rule was that if you were giving out candy, you had to be in costume. She had the time of her life. We gave candy to the little kids, and scared the big ones, and gave them candy too. Everyone had a blast, but she told me later it was the best Halloween she ever had. Still makes me tear up when I think about it. I'm such a softie.

One year, I was at a friend's house visiting, and catching the door for her while she got ready. This adorable little witch was at the door. She was so cute, I just held the bowl down to her, and said "You pick out what you want, honey." With a beautiful smile at me, she waved her hand carefully through the candy bowl. After she left, I realized she had taken every single peanut butter cup!

Another year, when we all still lived at the old house, a young boy knocked on the door of the apartment. This was the year that Dan Quayle had flubbed up so badly with his famous spelling error (potatoe). The boy was obviously not thrilled with his costume. He was wearing a little Sunday suit, and carrying a briefcase. After I opened the door, he took an index card out of the jacket pocket, examined it carefully, and said "Oh. That's how you spell it." Printed on the card was the word POTATO. He got lots of candy from me, and from my friends next door too. He may not have been really happy about wearing a suit trick-or-treating, but I bet he raked in some candy that night!