I couldn’t tell you about Halloween last week because, well, it hadn’t happened yet.
But now that I’ve had some time to reflect on the night, please hold your bacon jokes.
The Carpenter and I attended our one must-go-to party of the year, where we see just about everyone we know but cannot recognize any of them because they are all dressed in costume. The Carpenter loves this night because he can hide behind a mask and be a prankster. I love it because the band is outstanding and I dance the entire time.
I borrowed a Miss Piggy costume. It came complete with a red satin dress, a blonde curly wig, pig nose, feather boa, and more punch lines than the Carpenter could contain in a five-hour night. But Miss Piggy needed her Kermit, right? Just try and imagine how that conversation went down in my house. I assure you it ended quite abruptly with the Carpenter’s one word response: No.
You see, the Carpenter suffers from what I call “fear of couple costumes.” I am sure there is a classified psychological disorder title for this issue. For a quiet, in-the-background kind of guy, on Halloween, he is quite comfortable in the spotlight (under a mask of course). He settled on a creepy outfit covered head to toe in dark layers with a hood and black cover over his face, so all you could see were red glowing eyes that lit up. Scary. Ominous. Perfect for him.
But you know, the real test to a relationship is the humiliation involved in the preparation for such an event. I mean, you really have to be in love enough to get past the horrific things that will be endured to get yourself into a costume and pig makeup. I am most grateful for the kindness shown by the Carpenter, who walked in as I attempted to squeeze into the Spanx undergarment required for the red piggy gown. Like most couples, the lights of our room are so rarely on, we’re not even sure they work.
When he turned the corner to watch me wrestle my way into a black Lycra torture chamber, I assure you, the moment was ripe for sausage jokes that would have landed him in hospital. The Carpenter was kind, almost too kind. The night was young. And then the kicker, when I had to ask, “Can you adjust my pig nose?”
I have absolutely no problem admitting that I shook my bacon out on that dance floor, surrounded by some of my favourite people in this community. And I rocked my feather boa like Miss Piggy would have wanted me to. Who knew they could be so much fun? (You, put your hand down.)
As I was the designated driver, the Carpenter was able to indulge in the party with more enthusiasm. However, I was unaware of his exuberance until we were walking to the car and the pig squeals began. My former-farm-kid spouse started yelling “soo-wee” and making back-bacon jokes with no sense of volume control, and much to his own delight. He was enjoying this, back bacon and all.
Look, after more than 20 years in a relationship, 15 of which are legal, you kind of alter your ideas of romance. The Carpenter and I have a very warped sense of flirting.
But I did tell you bacon is an aphrodisiac, right? And there you have it.
Writing has been my passion since I learned how to hold a pencil (which I still cannot do properly). Despite my father’s insistence that I would starve to death in this career, I remain well fed and eager to write more. They say you should do what you love: I love to write.