In the first week of November of last year, I kissed an owl. She was not an owl when I kissed her, though she was when I met her, and, at that point, I’d still thought of her as a reflection of the costume she wore.
We stood at her front door after a date and made clumsy conversation. After a while, I assumed she was buying time, so I leaned in and kissed her. I’d made a horrible mistake. It was uncomfortable for both of us.
After pulling away, I thought what any rational person would think: I should go.
However, considering I can never connect my brain with the lower half of my body, I awkwardly announced, “I’m coming in again.” Before I knew it, we were kissing a second time. And yes, it was much worse the second time.
If you couldn’t already tell, this is a cautionary tale. They say that, in spring, love is in the air. But if you think about it, it makes more sense for cooler weather to bring people together.
You can hold hands without sweaty palms, there’s pumpkin-flavored everything and sharing your bed becomes an enjoyable prospect.
The temporal nature of the season prompts a certain self-reflection — with the exception of Halloween, when you only want to be invited to a party so you can show off your tandem costume or some other extension of how stupefyingly clever you are. Let’s face it, this would be an exhausting endeavor if you were to try to emulate said cleverness for an extended period of time.
That brings me to this warning: Never date someone you meet on Halloween.
Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, “But Ian, what if I meet the boy or girl of my dreams?” To which I say, “If your dreams consist of romantic relationships with people dressed as animals, cartoon characters or the human centipede, you should see a therapist.”
If you meet someone dressed as a zombie, he or she is probably lacking brains or creativity — let’s face it, zombie costumes are over. It’s beaten to death, everybody. We get it.
If you meet a guy dressed in a loincloth, odds are he’s reliably troglodytic. If you meet a girl with more cleavage than a pumpkin patch, odds are that’s how she’ll dress to meet your mom.
Dressed like a German barmaid? One too many shots of Jagermeister, and she could probably bench press you. Dressed like a porn star? He probably has herpes.
A cat or dog costume? She’s probably high maintenance. Or he. Shout out to my men who love men and my ladies who love ladies. Don’t think this warning is heteronormative; we’re all in danger of a bad Halloween date.
If a nightmare of a time is what you’re looking for, trust me, you’re better off meeting someone on Craigslist.
Where my own date was concerned, she was an owl. In our culture, this signifies wisdom with an air of mystery. I was a construction worker — the personification of hard work, ruggedness and dependability; although, in reality, I just found a hardhat and a flannel shirt.
The owl was not mysterious or symbolic of anything, just nice, plain and a little mousy. I was not reliable or rugged or handsome, but rather bookish and aloof.
Even in the best scenario, if your date isn’t the costume he or she embodied, he or she is actually the polar opposite.
If you want my advice, go to a Halloween party dressed as yourself, and wait for someone to ask you, “What are you supposed to be?” When they do, smile and say, “Me? I’m superficial.”
