Also troubling is the Fact that I’ve Dressed as Men Two Years in a Row

I am having a really hard time not writing a seething post about the illogical logic that most twenty-something females use to justify defining “costume” as adding wings, a tail, or fake bunny ears to lingerie. Apparently, we are all desperate for a chance to show the world what we look like in our skivvies, and Halloween has become the perfectly acceptable chance to do that. I mean, that’s what I would write if I chose to write such a post. But I’ve decided not to. So, while I might have mentioned the fleeting attention these get-ups will provide you is founded in thoughts that would probably make you want to slap these gents squarly across the face more than once, I’m just not going there this year. I simply don’t need to make a big deal out of the truth and self-respect that exists in leaving a little to the imagination. It’s a waste of time to drone on about it, so if your lace and stilletos and cleavage get you into trouble this Halloween, I won’t be the one saying I told you so.