Happy Whore-a-ween!

I’m not sure how this happens, but every year Halloween sneaks up on me,  pokes me with its devil horn, and straddles me with its fishnets.

It always feels like a regular work week, and then people start dropping clues–indications that I’m neither prepared for the trick nor the treat.  On Friday I overheard a group of girls in the elevator discussing their costumes:

“I think I’m going to be a sexy Fraggle.”

“Ooh. Good one! I’m going to be slutty toothpaste.”

“Nice. My friends and I are going as a harem of horny bee keepers.”

FUCK. Time to harness my  inner hooch, squeeze it into something spandex, and parade it bar to bar under the guise of wholesome fun.  I’m over it.  I hadn’t made plans, so last night I called my friend and told her that we’d be going out, but under no circumstances was I dressing up.

“I have wine,” I said. “Come over, immediately…But wait until 10 because I’m watching 48 Hours, and am fairly certain the preacher killed his wife, but I’m waiting on the verdict.”

When she buzzed I went downstairs to meet her.  Through the glass doors I could see her bunny ears.

“You dressed up!”

“Yes. I’m a pragmatic bunny.”

“A what?”

“The Aerosoles are so that my feet don’t hurt if we do a lot of walking.  The corduroys are because all my other pants are in the laundry, and I don’t wear leggings.  And the wool jacket is because it’s cold out.  The pink ears and bowtie…that’s because I’m a bunny. Obviously.”

We decided to start the night in my neighborhood.  I figured if there’s one place I don’t need to worry about being dressed as a slutty woman, it’s Boystown.  Let’s be honest, the men around here do it better than I ever could, anyway.  We went to Wang’s, my favorite hole-in-the-wall that just happens to serve a delicious pear martini.

At the door we were greeted by a bouncer dressed as a French maid. “Good evening ladies,” he said, peering over Pragmatic Bunny’s ears, “do you have a man with you?”

“Um, no. Not presently,” I said, handing him my ID.

“Sorry, no can do.  You have to have a man with you to come in.”

And like that, he feather dusted me out of the bar.

I looked at Pragmatic Bunny. One of her ears was twisted to the side, so she looked particularly alert. She flashed a frown.  Was this a case of Halloween discrimination? Had I been dressed as Sexy Dog Whisperer, would he have let me in?  Or was this just old fashioned boob discrimination?  Either way, I don’t think it’s  legal.  I’m pretty sure I was tricked.

Happy Whore-a-ween.

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