I've got the perfect idea. Forget fortune cookies, astrology, and Magic 8 Balls. Okay, maybe not that last part, because sometimes when Slayer and I really can't decide where to go out to eat, we narrow it down to two and ask The Ball. Because The Ball knows things. The Ball is smart with a capital MA, simply because as we all know, I like random capitalization.
But I've decided that instead of reading Tarot or palms or anything boring like that, I'm going to tell fortunes by reading Halloween costumes. Because of course I am an expert in all things Halloweenie, as we've established already. And I think that Halloween costumes really say something about people.
For example, I give you this:
Yes, that is a Polaroid. Yes, that is me.
And no, I have no idea what the bleep my parents were trying to dress me up as. It looks to me like I'm a clownbo. Because I remember the plaid shirt and faux sheepskin vest. (I was stylin, wasn't I?) And I remember carrying a stick with a bandanna tied to the end, which strongly suggests hobo. But I look like my makeup was done by Sparky the Intoxicated Clown. And I've got a notebook as a tie. Don't ask. I have no clue whatsoever.
So I'm going to call it a clownbo. Now, if I was a Costume Reader, which I of course AM, I would say the following to Former Me: Get a life. Do it quickly. Because in about a year, some of your classmates will stuff you into a mailbox. And really, who can blame them, because the clownbo thing is just not working. Clownbos scream to be shoved into mailboxes.
I am beginning to think that my clownboness ruined my grade school career. I was the class geek in grade school. If only I would have dressed like Barbie, I could have been kewl.
Which is why this year I'm going as the Queen of the Ninja Cheerleaders. Because that kind of costume screams "I WILL KICK YOUR BOOTY IF YOU EVEN THINK ABOUT TRYING TO STUFF ME INTO A MAILBOX!" Because I've kind of got a mailbox complex now. Take a look at a mailbox next time you're walking by; you'll see why.