I'm 99% sure that if I both dressed up like a slut and had a leg of chicken the size of my skull to offer up with ample nutritious side dishes, I would never make it out the door. That being said, it's pretty sad that the closest I've gotten to picking a costume is wondering how many overpriced Lower East Side vintage store sweatsuit pieces I'd need to get in order to be a sexy MC Hammer. A windbreaker with six-inch heels? Shusshy pants with tassles on top? Would that be enough enough?
I'm so close to rolling out in a $10 two-piece Halloween costume from Duane Reade, playing up the bags under my eyes, throwing on ugly old back-of-the-closet gymshoes, carrying around cheap generic candy in a plastic Jack-O-Lantern and going as a Suburban Mom On Halloween, you have no idea.
(cartoon from The Hairpin, obviously.)