My First Grownup Halloween Was NSFW

When I was a kid, my parents didn’t let us go trick-or-treating. We celebrated Halloween with decorations and candy, but we weren’t allowed to dress up and go out. They didn’t think it was safe, and I remember my mother worrying about that whole razor blades in apples thing. I don’t think I was too disappointed about no trick-or-treating growing up, but when I went to college, I couldn’t wait to participate in a “real” Halloween.

College Halloween, a dramatization

The first few months of freshman year were absolutely action-packed for me, and I realized I hadn’t thought of a costume when it was only a day or two until Halloween. My roommate Karen and our friend Shannon looked through my closet to help me come up with something. We ended up with Inspector Gadget, since I had a trench coat. Shannon put things like a screwdriver into the pockets so they would stick out. I wasn’t particularly into Inspector Gadget, but I was thrilled to “be something” like everyone else.

On Halloween, I had classes all day and happily wore my costume the whole time. In the evening, I headed back to the dorm to give out candy as part of a program that brought under-privileged trick-or-treaters door-to-door on campus. I stood with Shannon, who was dressed up in a great pirate costume, as we greeted the kids and the adult chaperones. One of these chaperones looked at me up and down and asked what I was. Inspector Gadget, I replied. He made a weird face and moved on. I noticed Shannon trying to keep a straight face, and I asked her if I was missing something. She told me I looked like I was dressed as a hooker. We hadn’t defined what to wear under the trench coat, so that morning I had picked a dress and heels thinking it didn’t matter. Unfortunately it was much shorter than the coat, and I didn’t realize it looked like I had nothing on underneath. Not to mention the screwdriver, hammer, and friends had fallen down in the pockets over time so you couldn’t see them anymore.

Not exactly the message I was trying to send

Mortified, I ran back to my room. Life in the outside world had been nice, but oh well. Time to spend the rest of my days in my room. If I absolutely needed to leave my shelter for any reason, I would need to wear a shroud, because I was dead. A paper bag over my head at the very least. I swore never to wear that trench coat ever again. How many of my professors in college thought I showed up to my classes as a prostitute once? We may never know, friend. We may never know.

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