MARY ANN FITZMORRIS / L’Observateur / October 18, 1999

It’s usually much too early for me to be thinking about Halloween costumes.

But this is a not a typical Halloween. I should have started workingalready. This year’s Halloween costume takes care of some unfinishedbusiness.

While we were vacationing last summer in Williamsburg, Va., my son gotthe notion he needed colonial garb to make his visit really authentic. Itstarted innocently enough, in a colonial store, where he discovered a tricorn hat, like the one we remember on Paul Revere. We bought it andleft. But during the course of the first day he got wind of the idea thatcostumes could be rented for people that wanted to further their experience. My son decided he needed to further his experiencepermanently, so my orders were to buy him a Revolutionary Era coat.

I consulted the tailor. “Madame,” he said, “the cost of the garment dependssolely on the type of cloth you choose.” I was intrigued by his manner ofspeech and interested in this history lesson, but my kids soon tired of the weird talking guy, so they went next door to meet up with dad.

After showing me that the garment was entirely hand stitched, I immediately and unabashedly asked for an estimate on my son’s size in the very least expensive fabric. “Madame, all the coats begin at around 15hundred dollars and go up from there, depending on the cloth.” I left thestore as soon as I came to.

When I caught up with the family, my son asked, “Where’s the coat?” My response was directed at my husband. “They start at 1,500,” Ireplied, as my husband quietly collapsed against a tree. “So, why didn’tyou get it?” my son persisted.

I was still in the state of shock, so I can’t be sure, but I vaguely remember promising the Revolutionary War coat for a Halloween costume. Then Ilapsed into private thoughts about how I should have listened to those parenting book suggestions on how allowances can teach the value of money, etc.

My daughter shook me from my introspections with the sweet question, “Mommy, can I have one of those little caps?” I was happy to fork over the $8.50 for the scrubwoman style nightcap until I noticed she had slipped inan apron. I promised her full colonial attire for Halloween as well.So it is with the thought of many hours in front of the sewing machine that I look upon this particular Halloween with dread. Gosh, at least wehave the hats! I’ve never before spent any time, really, on costumes, or even thinking about costumes. Perhaps that’s why my kids have neverbothered to even think about costume contests.

I’ve refused to buy those flimsy, instantly combustible wisps of costumes for $39.95. So this year will be our first trek out to Trick or Treat witha serious costume, assuming I get started soon.

Since I’ve been feeling sorry for myself and the work I have to do, I’ve begun to inquire about what everyone else is up to. My daughter’s friendhas begged for a skeleton costume for years. (It’s typecasting, really.)Her mom has agreed this year, which makes it no fun, so she wants to be the spider she was last year.

A boy in my son’s class has decided he’s not even going. Maybe I’ll recruithis mom to help me. Another boy’s mom explained that her son had decidedlast year as a military man was such fun, this year they would be paramilitary men. She responded, “Look, last year you painted your facegreen, this year you paint your face grey. Go to a different part of thejungle.” I like her style.I guess such perennial male favorites are sort of easy for guys. But I beganto wonder what girls my son’s age were thinking about. I asked the mom ofone of my son’s friends.

She giggled pathetically. “That’s easy. She’s going to be Brittney!” Aftershe walked away I began to feel sorrier for her than I did for myself. Evena hand-stitched Revolutionary war jacket is cheaper than a boob job.

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