By Marissa Bean
I hate Halloween.
Wait, no, I don’t hate Halloween. I loathe Halloween. I despise it. I want it erased from every calendar.
Right now, you might be thinking about how much you love Halloween. You’ve always loved getting dressed up to go trick-or-treating. You enjoyed the costumes you saw in your neighborhood. You still love Halloween, even as a college student. (Is it because you love to party on Halloween? Don’t answer that.)
When someone mentions Halloween, my first thought is that I don’t like it now, and I never have.
It’s difficult to pinpoint what has made me anti-Halloween, although I have a few ideas.
I don’t remember a time in my life where I enjoyed going to Wal-mart or Party City during the fall. In my formative years, I saw the most terrifying costumes in the Halloween department. You know the ones I’m talking about: the grim reaper, frightening clowns, and Jason from Friday the 13th.
Finding a Halloween costume for myself was always a monumental task. First, I’d have to find the courage to even walk into the store. If that wasn’t bad enough, I’d then have to sift through the costumes that scared me to find a nice one I could wear.
At nineteen years old, I still refuse to step foot into any store or aisle with Halloween costumes.
Another factor in my disdain for Halloween could be a mask my cousin wore one year. That year, I went trick-or-treating with a few family members. My cousin wore a mask because he dressed up as Jason from Friday the 13th, a costume that I previously mentioned that I hated.
This was no ordinary scary mask. It had a mechanism inside it that when a button was pressed, fake blood would stream down the inside of the mask. Let’s just say that I kept my distance from him that night.
My hatred of Halloween could stem from more innocent matters. Maybe I just don’t like it because we still have to go to school on October 31st.
Perhaps my animosity towards Halloween originated with the alterations made to my costume every year.
Picking out a costume was traumatizing enough, yet my mother always insisted on making changes to my overall outfit in the interest of warmth. I love my mother, and I understand that mothers are supposed to be protective of their children’s easily frostbitten limbs. However, I think she went a little overboard more than once.
I’ve seen “Cinderella” many times in my life. I don’t remember any scene in which she is wearing sneakers, a coat, and thermal underwear.
Although the costume itself has escaped my memory, I remember at least one occasion where my mother insisted on me wearing a coat underneath my costume. I probably don’t remember the costume because I refused photographs that year.
No matter where my grudge about Halloween came from, I can guarantee that it isn’t going away anytime soon.
This year, I’m going to wear a penguin costume, but I don’t plan on leaving my room.
When you’re enjoying everyone’s favorite holiday, think of me in my penguin costume. Just remember, I won’t be wearing sneakers or a coat, and the thermal underwear will not be making an appearance this year.
Marissa Bean is a Comment staff writer. Follow her on Twitter at @MarLaur16.