Dracula
This year for Halloween, I’m going as Dracula. I know this is not a terribly original idea,
but the other night as I went out for a walk and looked at the moon, I noted that once again I had
not been outside all day long. So, I figure I may as well go with a costume that matches my
lifestyle. Not that I consider myself to be evil incarnate or anything, but between work and trying
to keep my house under control (a doomed effort if ever there was one) days can go by without
my seeing much of the sun. Also, I’m not a morning person, or really much of an afternoon
person either. If you want sparkling conversation, call me at 10 o’clock at night when I finally
wake up.
“Come on Dave!” I’ll say to my husband with great energy, “Let’s go for a walk!”
“Lfffle elevthmph o’clock ath ni-gargle-t!” Dave, the morning person, will respond
through his toothbrush.
By the way, I believe that one of the secrets to a happy marriage is for one or the other of
you to be half asleep at all times. You can overlook a lot when you’re half asleep.
Anyway, if the night is fine and the moon is bright, I’ll go out for a little walk. I’ll prowl
the neighborhood searching, always searching, because one never knows when some gullible
person might be having a late-night barbecue. When I creep back to my lair, I slide through the
front door like a shadow, then crash into the side table knocking down four books, three
knickknacks and a big glass of water. But eventually I creep into my chamber and wind myself
up in the sheets until the morning sun slips through the blinds causing me to writhe in agony and
bury myself among the pillows.
Yes, I’ve got the lifestyle down. And then there is my personal appearance. For starters I
have fangs. This caused me some embarrassment as a child until I solved the problem by diving
into the shallow end of a swimming pool and chipping my front tooth in half. While the dentist
was fixing the tooth, my parents told him to go ahead and fix the fangs too. He did, so no one
now would notice them, but they’re there just the same. A vampire secret. And then there are the
dimples, not cute wholesome dimples in my cheeks, but malevolent dents right between the
eyebrows. I fondly call these my “vulture marks.” Their purpose, as far as I can see, is to tone
down the effect of what would otherwise be large innocent blue eyes. But one morning, it was
the eyes themselves that betrayed me.
I had staggered still asleep to the bathroom, as is my custom, but woke up suddenly and
completely when I saw to my horror, that one eye was entirely red--not just bloodshot, but deep
blood red where the white was supposed to be. I ran shrieking to the eye doctor who told me I
just burst a blood vessel, nothing to worry about, it should clear up in a week or so. I was
relieved and my co-workers rallied round to make me feel even better, “The eyes are the window
to the soul you know,” said one. More common was an honest, “EWWWWWWW, Gross!” The
eye bothered everyone else much more than it did me. After all, they were the ones who had to
look at it. I’m afraid I took advantage of this.
“Say Jeanette, why don’t you put these books away for me?”
“No way, that’s your job!”
“Oh, I just thought you might want to, because otherwise I might look at you and…”
“EWWWWWWW!!!!!! No! Don’t look at me! Hand me those stupid books. Is that eye ever
going to get better?”
Evil can be fun.
As promised, my eye soon returned to its normal color. Unlike my skin, which I choose
to call ‘porcelain,’ but others call ‘ghostly pale. ‘No doubt this is due to a combination of no sun
and low blood pressure.
“Hey, you’re dead!” Dave will say, vainly looking for a pulse.
“I know. Do you think that’s a good enough excuse to call in sick tomorrow?”
And, speaking of death, while it’s unlikely that I’ll end my days by having a stake driven
through my heart, there is no doubt that a good steak goes straight to my heart. It may even finish
me off in the end.
but the other night as I went out for a walk and looked at the moon, I noted that once again I had
not been outside all day long. So, I figure I may as well go with a costume that matches my
lifestyle. Not that I consider myself to be evil incarnate or anything, but between work and trying
to keep my house under control (a doomed effort if ever there was one) days can go by without
my seeing much of the sun. Also, I’m not a morning person, or really much of an afternoon
person either. If you want sparkling conversation, call me at 10 o’clock at night when I finally
wake up.
“Come on Dave!” I’ll say to my husband with great energy, “Let’s go for a walk!”
“Lfffle elevthmph o’clock ath ni-gargle-t!” Dave, the morning person, will respond
through his toothbrush.
By the way, I believe that one of the secrets to a happy marriage is for one or the other of
you to be half asleep at all times. You can overlook a lot when you’re half asleep.
Anyway, if the night is fine and the moon is bright, I’ll go out for a little walk. I’ll prowl
the neighborhood searching, always searching, because one never knows when some gullible
person might be having a late-night barbecue. When I creep back to my lair, I slide through the
front door like a shadow, then crash into the side table knocking down four books, three
knickknacks and a big glass of water. But eventually I creep into my chamber and wind myself
up in the sheets until the morning sun slips through the blinds causing me to writhe in agony and
bury myself among the pillows.
Yes, I’ve got the lifestyle down. And then there is my personal appearance. For starters I
have fangs. This caused me some embarrassment as a child until I solved the problem by diving
into the shallow end of a swimming pool and chipping my front tooth in half. While the dentist
was fixing the tooth, my parents told him to go ahead and fix the fangs too. He did, so no one
now would notice them, but they’re there just the same. A vampire secret. And then there are the
dimples, not cute wholesome dimples in my cheeks, but malevolent dents right between the
eyebrows. I fondly call these my “vulture marks.” Their purpose, as far as I can see, is to tone
down the effect of what would otherwise be large innocent blue eyes. But one morning, it was
the eyes themselves that betrayed me.
I had staggered still asleep to the bathroom, as is my custom, but woke up suddenly and
completely when I saw to my horror, that one eye was entirely red--not just bloodshot, but deep
blood red where the white was supposed to be. I ran shrieking to the eye doctor who told me I
just burst a blood vessel, nothing to worry about, it should clear up in a week or so. I was
relieved and my co-workers rallied round to make me feel even better, “The eyes are the window
to the soul you know,” said one. More common was an honest, “EWWWWWWW, Gross!” The
eye bothered everyone else much more than it did me. After all, they were the ones who had to
look at it. I’m afraid I took advantage of this.
“Say Jeanette, why don’t you put these books away for me?”
“No way, that’s your job!”
“Oh, I just thought you might want to, because otherwise I might look at you and…”
“EWWWWWWW!!!!!! No! Don’t look at me! Hand me those stupid books. Is that eye ever
going to get better?”
Evil can be fun.
As promised, my eye soon returned to its normal color. Unlike my skin, which I choose
to call ‘porcelain,’ but others call ‘ghostly pale. ‘No doubt this is due to a combination of no sun
and low blood pressure.
“Hey, you’re dead!” Dave will say, vainly looking for a pulse.
“I know. Do you think that’s a good enough excuse to call in sick tomorrow?”
And, speaking of death, while it’s unlikely that I’ll end my days by having a stake driven
through my heart, there is no doubt that a good steak goes straight to my heart. It may even finish
me off in the end.