Tuesday, October 30, 2007


Tomorrow, depending on who you ask, is either a holiday of pagan origin, meant for blood sacrifice and cavorting with the devil (or at least his minions), or it's a day to dress up and get candy.

I never did much with Halloween; that tends to be the case with kids raised in conservative households. Yeah, I thought it'd be fun to dress up, but I had bought into my parents' paranoia about the weirdos just waiting to maim innocent little kids, so trick-or-treating wasn't very high on my list, especially when we could buy bags of the stuff on clearance the following day; the only drawback was the sense of feeling left out on Nov. 1 when all my classmates talked of how much candy they got and how much fun they had. And there was the matter of my immortal soul, of course. I was a solemn little child.

I wonder if any of my students will be dressed up tomorrow; it would make for a nice change of pace. I toy with the idea of dressing up, but it's late, and I'm not going back out this evening. And costumes are expensive.

I could just go dressed up as, well, a teacher. As far as I'm concerned, what I wear for teaching qualifies as "grown-up clothes" or a "teaching costume." The blouses, tailored jackets, and dress pants (or the occasional skirt) are part of a persona, that of "Ms. [Twit]." It's just not me, not as I picture myself in my mind's eye, anyway. Only on campus and at work do I dress like that; otherwise it's--

And that's when it occurred to me. I could go tomorrow dressed up (or down, actually) as myself (whoever that person is). Grungy jeans and a T-shirt with a smart-assed phrase on it. I like the idea; it's almost worth it for the excuse of not having to iron tonight. But that's a bit boring. I look through my closet, over to the half with my formal, special occasion clothing. OK, I like the blue floor-length evening gown--I could invent a story behind it, but there's the matter of the train and my constant urge to hitch it up at every step as it gets underfoot. And a gown like that calls for the evil, foot-killing shoes that I only wear once or twice a year. It's a definite no-go there. Some of the skirts--nope, that'd just look overdressed.

I glance down at the closet floor, rummage under the bags of yarn that seem to have multiplied in my closet; things do fall off the hanger sometimes. I catch sight of my boots--lovely, knee-high, lace-up boots, the kind you see on goth kids and--

I build my outfit from there. Technically, it's not a costume--I've worn it before, mostly in my undergrad days. On a campus with a large population of farm kids and military brats, it got a few gawks. It'll be perfect, if only for the reason that I'll be wearing it, facing the class in the role of teacher. I'll be a Hot Topic poster child. The skirt is layers of lace over a burgundy solid, and top has frilled sleeves and lace. I'll pull out the black eye liner, but I'm not sure if I'll be bold enough to match it with the black lipstick. Erm, I think not.

So, it'll be perfect to go teaching decked out in my finest goth garb. Or, even better--I'll be a student. I'll go as my younger self, take fairly diligent notes with lots of doodles in the margins, sit in the back of the classroom, not say a word unless directly addressed, and slip out largely unnoticed. Of course, that begs the question of who'll teach.

That's easy. My students will.

Heck, even better, I won't just be my younger self--I'll be every annoying student. I'll stand up front and sharpen my pencil for five minutes. I'll put my head down like I'm sleeping. I'll lean over and chat with the person next to me when the "teacher" is talking. If called on, I'll say I don't know or didn't do the reading... Ooooh, I should just make myself a checklist...

I could really get into this Halloween thing.


And I'll be back on November 1st with how my nefarious plan went over. Thereafter, at least for the month of November, I intend to post every day as part of NaBloPoMo, or National Blog Posting Month. Yes, more drivel from the Overeducated Twit! Lucky you!

This borders on self-promotion (crosses the line, actually), but
you could subscribe in a reader so you're notified when I update. If you want.


William the Coroner said...


We should get together. Supposedly, I look like a college professor, according to my lawyer friends. Go figure. (Though I'd go for the gown. It'd be great for the mortician's ball. You know how hard it is to get a date for the mortician's ball?)

Overeducated Twit said...

Heh... is there really such a thing as a mortician's ball? All Google turns up are frat party exploits.

William the Coroner said...

There is indeed such a thing as the Mortician's ball. The door prizes are great. I won a headstone one year. It's the Cleveland Embalmer's Association Clambake.

Overeducated Twit said...

Well, goodness, with a name like "Embalmer's Association Clambake," what gal in her right mind could possibly turn down an invitation?

I have a pretty high weirdness threshold, but that would make even me pause.