• Fri, Oct 28 2011

My Own Slut-O-Ween Story: Britney Spears

I do not have a picture of my costume.

I did not even make it to the huge party at which I was supposed to make my debut as Crazy Britney Spears. I wanted to be creative and slightly modest, as I was still with my long-distance boyfriend at the time, so I landed on something humorous but trashy, in keeping with Halloween spirit without showing any of my delicate parts. I had everything, from a carefully selected replica outfit (Pink Wig Britney = Pink wig, leopard print dress, ripped tights, and unflattering mid-calf boots. Do you remember those? Perez made fun of them for months.) to props. Well, make that prop, which brings me to my story.

Halloween is a super big deal at my grad school. We have one huge party each semester, and Halloween is the fall’s. We organize shuttles, block off rooms at the venue for pre-gaming, and generally act irresponsibly. I was psyched. Plus, it fell after a huge exam, so it would have been a terrific opportunity to blow off some steam.

I’d picked up a gigantic empty Starbucks cup already, but I thought if I really wanted to commit to Britney’s essence, I had to have a baby I was neglecting. As adult beverages would be served at the party, I decided it’d probably be best to get a baby doll instead of an actual baby. Even though I’d never been quite maternal to my own baby dolls, I was certain that they were a staple of the children’s toy industry.

I searched through the various mass retailers to no avail. The rows of little girls’ toys only contained pretend kitchenware, teddy bears, and dolls dressed like the very slut-o-weens I’d be encountering the next night. Let’s not even go into what that says about our future. With the clock ticking, the Friday night before the big party I rolled into a dollar store, vaguely remembering their toy section at one time possessing dolls. The dollar store was even worse than the mass retailers had been. There were doll clothes, but no dolls. There were even hair extensions. But no baby dolls.

I’m sad to say the story doesn’t end there. I woke up the next day with pink eye, presumably from shopping in the toy sections of various stores where children who haven’t yet learned the importance of washing their hands go to play. My roommate, who is terrified of costumes and was planning on spending the night locked up in her room anyway, bravely volunteered to drive me to the Minute Clinic where our amateur diagnosis was confirmed.

Sure enough, I had pink eye, and the nurse ordered me to quarantine myself for 24 hours. I pouted (until my roommate made me set a deadline to quit pouting, and then she took me to McDonald’s for a Happy Meal), and thankfully had good company for the evening at home. I boiled my sheets and clothing and tried to ignore the revelry of the party-goers as they headed out.

This year, I’m going as Slutty Snow White, and I bought the costume in that sad plastic Legs Avenue package, and I’m disinfecting myself approximately twelve times a day. I’m going to the Halloween party this year, and I’m going infection-free. If I have pictures, I’ll be sure to send them to you.

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