Debraiding

Mistah did not want to dress up for Halloween.

"Come on!" I said, "It'll be fun!"

I was a Chilean Coal Miner.

See how fun?

Mister Dibble was a Chilean Miner too. He was Miner #22 -- the one with the wife and the mistress. Elizabeth dressed up as both.

Mister Dibble told me we weren't coal miners; we mined gold and copper. I told him he must have been in the wrong mine.

Anyway, back to Mistah Schleckah. He said he didn't have a costume. "Look at yourself," I said. "Have you seen yourself? You have Halloween hair!"

He finally gave in -- I was adamant I was not going to go to two parties alone -- and he let me braid it.

Pretty cool, huh? He was dressed as a weird-o. Not too big a stretch. But he was also mistaken for a Native American (thanks, I think, to his headband, which I macrame-ed when I was about 9, and which I've somehow held onto all these years). And more than one person told him they thought he was Bo Derek.

Which made it all worth it.

The next day we headed downtown and Mistah had some surveillance photos taken of him . . .


 I traded in my Chilean Miner shades for Dawnie's Capri shades

Actually, Sunday was the Martha-thon, but that's another story entirely. Quite a crew, though, huh? Kind of makes you want to run for the hills.

Of course, like Jacquie's drama-filled weekend, ours, too, was filled with neighborhood Halloween doings:

Gigi was a Elephant Princess. Naturally.

. . . and some good old-fashioned Westy love:

Spit-shined in solidarity.

And then, just like that, the weekend was over. And the end of Halloween weekend can mean only one thing:

Debraiding.

We left one wee one in, though, for posterity.

Imagine what that mop would look like without the haircut?