I knew things were getting better and I was happy about where we were, but things certainly still didn’t feel “right”. One of my favorite holidays is Halloween. I knew it would make me feel better to dress up, pretend to be someone else and have a good time with it. My kids and I have always loved Halloween. The spookiness of it, the jump out of your skin of it. It was all a very strange holiday if you ask me, but it was fun. We had our tradition since they were little of making Witches Hat cookies (peanut butter Hershey kiss) and we watch Hocus Pocus. I mean really, I don’t care how old they get, it is something we will do until the day I die. They do it more so for me now than anything else and I am ok with that.

Then there is the event of picking out a costume. When I was young, my grandmother would make my costume. I’ve been a French maid, mime, pilgrim, crayon, you name it, I’ve been it. But this year was a little different. I was feeling more bitter and dark than usual. I took my younger daughter to the costume store, you know the ones that just pop up out of nowhere? I thought it very ironic that she tried on a nun costume being she goes to Catholic School. I thought it was a hysterical gesture and that she should do it, not only cause of school, but because she was definitely no nun. She thought it inappropriate and didn’t want the nuns to think she was making fun of them, so she went with sexy fireman….of course. Easy second choice. I on the other hand only needed some fake scars and blood and I was all set.

We got home and I arranged my outfit. The next morning was Halloween and I got ready for work. I took out my Wedding Dress. The second one because for some reason anything having to do with Gingham I saved. I put on my dress, arranged scars all over my arms and face and then in a quick decision I threw fake blood all over the dress. Yup, I sure did. Dead Bride. My new take on relationships. It was probably in bad taste, but I did it anyway. I teased my hair, put black circles around my eyes darker than they already were and headed out the door.

First stop, the Bagel store. Where I stood in line dressed up and one woman asked “Is that your real wedding dress?” My response “One of them” A little girl stood next to me staring and I’m pretty sure I scared her. Good. Relationships are no joke! You should be scared little girl. Second stop, my parents. To which the first thing my mother did was say “You’re going to get the dress cleaned right?” No, mom, no I am not. I was almost certain that the dress was a symbol of nothing good for me and it would be in the dress up box from now on.

Third stop, work. I sat at my desk unassuming doing my daily tasks when my boss walked in. He shrieked in amusement and since I had only been there two months I am sure he was second guessing his decision. I loved my costume. I looked awesome and everyone knew why I was dressed that way. It wasn’t because I wanted to win some unknown award for best costume, it was because that was how I felt. Dead inside to men, to relationships, to life in general right now. I felt sad and scary and dark and twisty. And that’s how I looked. And for one day I could get away with it. And I did.