Halloween and the Hoochie Horseback Rider

It's that time of year again, my friends. Candy corn, "Trick or Treat," ghosts and ghouls and girls dressed like ladies of the night. 

Time for my annual rant about the short, the sheer, the utterly inappropriate Halloween costumes available for girls.

In 2011, the year I launched Lovin' the Alien, I wrote about the Candy Cane Ho, a costume so ludicrously offensive, it simply couldn't be ignored. Two years later, I talked about skimpy witches and sexy penguins, and the other classy options available to our girls. (Happily, my daughter has never felt compelled to show that much skin on an October evening here in chilly New England. Brrr.)

This year, my now teenage daughter forwarded a picture of a new costume which has both of us shaking our heads. It's a "Sexy Equestrienne," and it's about as far from depicting an actual athlete as it can be.

Let's start with that word: "athlete." My daughter and her pony-loving peers are athletes. No question. A gym teacher once told her that riding was "a hobby, not a sport." Well, I'd like to challenge him to a little friendly competition. Can he post up and down in a saddle for 45 minutes? Tell a 1,200-pound animal to change gaits or direction by squeezing his thigh muscles? Lug tack trunks in and out of trailers? Or carry 50-pound water buckets uphill to the barn?

Hmmm. 'Didn't think so.

That's all in a day's work for my daughter. 

As far as sexiness is concerned, I assure you it is the last thing on any equestrienne's mind while she's training or competing. Don't get me wrong, most girls who take riding seriously have great figures (see typical workout described above) and I've seen many of them, my daughter included, clean up very nicely. But, when they're on their horse, in a ring or on a trail, they are working too hard to worry about how alluring they may or may not look.

The "Sexy Equestrienne" may be new, but it's not exactly news. Most costumes available for girls — even tweens and younger — can aptly use the adjective "sexy." There are sexy policewomen, sexy nurses, sexy vampires, sexy kittens, sexy crayons, sexy bumblebees and, of course, my all-time favorite sexy candy corn. Often, there are sexy girl versions of the same decidedly un-sexy boy costumes, as my friend's then 8-year old daughter pointed out in this video.

Do girls really want to look like ... um ... professionals? According to the much-loved movie Mean Girls, the answer is "Yes." As Lindsay Lohan's Cady Stanton learns "Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it."

But, I'm not buying it. 

A big part of how girls (and young women) define their attractiveness and value is driven by the media. From very young ages, they're bombarded by sexy images. I also think that a big factor behind the "every costume looks like a hoochie-mama" phenomenon is an economic one. Less fabric, more profit. It's that simple.

Actual equestrienne clothing (as opposed to the "Sexy Equestrienne" costume) requires significantly more fabric: reinforced seats and knees, layers that actually protect and perform.

If someone attempted to do dressage, stadium jumping or cross-country in the Halloween costume depicted above, my daughter and her teammates would choke with laughter.

And their horses probably would too.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  
 

Halloween By The Numbers

My teenage daughter just sent me an urgent text from her study hall at the high school. The fan fell out of her tail and a piece broke off and her bird had deflated.

OMG!

No, my daughter doesn't imbibe in hallucinogenic mushrooms (as far as I know). And this isn't some secret code; we're not in the CIA.

My daughter and most of her class went to school today as ostriches. They ordered inflatable costumes en masse. I had some issues with the whole thing. (Does this surprise anyone? It certainly didn't surprise my daughter; she's definitely used to my issues by now.)

All right, first of all, how was this creative? Halloween gives kids an opportunity to flex those neglected artistic muscles. Pre-made costumes? Not so much.

Next, how does it allow anyone to express individuality? Everyone is wearing the same thing!

Finally, the ridiculous contraption (the quality of which, as I've already pointed out, is not particularly long-lasting) cost about $40. What about the kids who don't have four ten-spots lying around? Or pushover parents?

At any rate, like most of my convictions, this one wasn't great enough to preclude my daughter participating. So, we dutifully ordered, paid for and picked up her ostrich. She went off to school this morning with her friend from next door, both armed with deflated ostrich costumes. They would blow them up at school. Which brings us back to the beginning of my post and the trauma for today.

Like most seventeen year-olds, my daughter stopped trick-or-treating a while ago. But, I have fond memories of her costumes through the years.

She was just six weeks old when we celebrated her first Halloween. Like countless contemporaries, she was ... a pumpkin. (Uh-h, what was I just saying about creativity and individuality? Hmmmm.)

At age one, she was Pooh Bear. My husband and I spent that Halloween in New Orleans at the Anne Rice Ball (talk about creative and individual outfits!). My mother came up to babysit and took lots of Pooh pictures for us.

By two, my daughter was a big fan of the Teletubbies. She was LaLa, the yellow one. (I never really understood the Teletubbies. Then again, I don't smoke weed.)

At three, she couldn't choose between a fairy, a princess or a kitty. So, with a decidedly "more is more" approach (which, I might add, has stayed with her), she dressed as a "Fairy Princess Kitty." She was a veritable vision of pink glitter, let me tell you. She practically reeked of "girly-girl."

Subsequent years included Alice in Wonderland and Madeline, a green-faced witch (we had just seen Wicked on Broadway), and a "cat burglar" (all black, including a mask and a watchman's cap plus a pillow case full of stuffed cats). Then, we went into the horse years. In addition to dressing up as an equine herself, she was alternately a horse fly, a headless horsewoman, and the "ghost rider of dead man's gulch." I loved that particular costume. She wore a cowboy outfit, ghoulish make-up, and we wrapped her in spider webs.

I miss those years, the pretty, the pink, the ponies. Too old to trick or treat, now she and her friends "hang out." 

And, they dress up like ostriches. 

You'll be happy to know that I received a follow-up text. My daughter found the missing piece, re-inflated her bird and went off to Physics.

I guess it will be a Happy Halloween after all.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

Lovin' the Alien in the News

Guess what? I'm in the September issue of Vogue!

Not really.

But, I am in the October issue of Boston Parents.

Yes, really. My essay "Tweens and Halloween: Sexy Penguin Anyone?" appears on page 10.

If you happen to live in the greater Boston area, you can pick up a copy. Or, thanks to the wonderful world of the web, you can take a look at the issue here. Finally, for your convenience — not to mention your reading pleasure — I've included the essay below:


Halloween is trickier than it used to be. Like everything else, the upcoming holiday becomes a bit more complicated when your little girl becomes a little woman. A catsuit on a 4-year old is adorable. A catsuit on a 14-year old is suddenly a little too tight, a little too curvy, a little too much.

In our household (like so many I know), everything we do is last minute. So, there I was last year, the Saturday before Halloween, at a costume shop in a neighboring town. 

Trying to get in and out of a Halloween store the weekend before that holiday is easier said than done. It took me less than five minutes to choose some masks we needed. It took me another 35 to get through the long line that snaked along the perimeter of the shop. I went by an aisle of adorable baby costumes (bees, lady bugs, pumpkins), by another filled with creepy decorations and animated lawn ornaments. Then, I hit trick or treat pay dirt. 

The aisle of Halloween hoochies.

I had arrived at the tweens and teens section, a land where less is truly more. As in: less fabric, more skin. The typical costume included a bare-midriff or corset top; a short, short skirt; and some combination of fishnet stockings, long gloves, garters, a headpiece and/or wings. It was like Halloween with The Girls Next Door at the Playboy Mansion. (Every package, btw, featured a pretty, pouting model who looked about 14.)

There were sexy nurses, sexy vampires, sexy fairies, sexy superheroes, sexy gypsies, sexy pirate wenches. Then there were the sexy animals. Some that made sense (in a warped way), like sexy kittens, foxes and bunnies. Some that didn't, like sexy penguins. Sexy penguins???

Last, but not least, there were the sexy inanimate objects. Sexy crayons, sexy beer bottles, sexy pizza slices, and my all-time favorite: sexy candy corn.

Because nothing says “Happy Halloween” like a sexy piece of candy corn. I’d never seen anything quite like it. Sort of a bodacious St. Pauly Girl look, a buxom blonde in an Alpine-inspired (perky bust extending above the shelf of her bodice) dress. Plus, of course, garters, stockings, high heels. But, the strange thing was that the entire sleazy outfit was made to look like a piece of candy corn.

I understand that the whole thrill behind wearing a costume is that it gives you a chance to put on another piece of your personality. But why do so many of the options for young girls feel more like taking off than putting on?

Happily, my own daughter is still more interested in collecting Kit Kat bars and hanging out with her friends than in letting it all hang out. This year, she's either going to be a pirate or a hippie. (And, with a little oversight from her mother, she will not be a slutty pirate wench or a hippie who is tripping on acid at Woodstock and forgot which VW van she left her top in.)

Sometimes, I do wish we could go back to the more innocent days of Teletubbies and Disney princesses. I guess I'll just have to settle for the little ones who come to the door.

Next year? Vogue, for sure.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  

Teen Crossing: Expect Delays

Loyal readers, I apologize.

Since starting my "Lovin' the Alien" blog two and a half years ago, I have never gone this long without writing. It's been a full ten days since my holiday post about Halloween hos. This is a new personal record (and not one that I'm proud of). Even when I've been away on vacations in the past, I've written from the road or scheduled posts in advance. But not this time.

My bad.

Of course, I do have a very viable excuse. A veritable slew of them, in fact. I'm running a marketing agency. I'm writing movie reviews. I'm dealing with a small fleet of old cars that need maintenance (and in one case, a new front end, thanks to last month's red-light runner at the intersection of Storrow Drive and Beacon Street). I'm trying to make it to yoga. I'm trying to make it through Zumba. I recently published my book.

None of this is new. (Well, the book and the fender bender are.) But, the past week has flown by with no time to write for one main reason ...

I am the mother of a teen.

Here is a handful of the most recent maternal activity that kept me away from my laptop. 

AP World History
Between September and May, my daughter has to cover all the history of the world. Holy ancient civilizations, Batman! That's a lot of history. And a lot of dates and rulers and wars and dynasties and cultures and ... and ... and. Her teacher is wise and tests the students every other chapter or so, rather than save it all for one or two major traumatic exams. 

Of course, this means that we have mini traumatic exams every week. 60 multiple choice questions. Daunting. After the first test, we brainstormed and came up with a system. My daughter studies; she presents what she's learned to us; then we quiz her. I highly recommend this process — but it takes at least a couple of hours. Every week. Usually after a particularly long day of work. With a cold coming on.

You get the picture.

Multiple Halloweens
This kooky, spooky holiday has become more complicated as my daughter's gotten older. Gone are the days when she chose a single outfit and stuck with it. (Winnie the Pooh, the yellow Teletubby, a ghostly cowboy, a combo kitten-fairy-princess because she couldn't make up her mind.) 

This year, we had to dress up for school (she borrowed my rasta mamma outfit), dress up for the stable (she and the pony were clowns — don't ask) and, dress up for the annual Hunter Pace, an elaborate costumed equestrian event (she and her teammate — and their horses — were Mexican Day of the Dead). They did win the blue ribbon, so it was time (lots and lots thereof), well-spent.

A Tale of Two Cities
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." 

No, I'm not talking about the French Revolution. I'm referring to the analytical essays my daughter has to turn in every other week for her English class. And, more specifically, the time she asks me to discuss and review and proof and print them.

As always, it's a bit of a conundrum. I definitely don't write the  papers for her. In fact, I often irritate her (okay, piss her off royally) by circling a passage and suggesting that she revisit it to find her own mistake. But, the process does take time (please refer to AP World History paragraphs above).

Items Missing in Action
In the last few days, we've lost an envelope of cash (costume reimbursement from the parents of the other Day of the Dead girl), and a watch. Not just any watch, mind you. The $125 "Ultimate Event Watch," a cool $125 timepiece that is, apparently, absolutely critical (to the tune of $125) if you're going to compete in three-phase equestrian events.

Did I mention it cost $125?

Not only did these two mysterious disappearances cause worry and stress, but they necessitated multiple people on multiple occasions searching through the pony barn and car upholstery. Happily (surprisingly), both were found.

The time spent, though, was gone forever.

At the end of the day (and why do so many of these fire drills happen at exactly that ... the end of the day?), I know that I am lucky to have a daughter who cares about her schoolwork and her grades, who puts thought and passion (and often my money) into her extracurricular activities. 

I also know that this time will pass — too soon — and she'll be off at college ... 

leaving her loving mother-proofreader-costume designer behind.

If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Witch or Sexy Penguin?

I love Halloween. Not the ghosts and ghouls and things-that-go-bump-in-the-night part of it, but all the dressing up. As a former drama major, I welcome any reason to put on a costume.

My husband and I, along with another couple, recently bought tickets for a masquerade ball in an antique mansion in our New England town. The party was sponsored by the local Arts Association, and we heard through the grapevine that they were going all out with decorations, refreshments and entertainment. It was scheduled for the Saturday night before Halloween. This meant that the Saturday morning before Halloween I started pulling out costumes.

Story of my life, sadly. Everything I do these days could be described as "just in time manufacturing."

Anyway, we have a trunk of dress-up bits in our cellar. Fancy gloves and costume jewelry, fairy wings, wigs, and elaborate feathered masks from New Orleans' French Market. Our plan was to take an elegant, minimalist approach. My husband would wear his wedding tuxedo. (Yes, he still fits in it, 21 years later. Suffice it to say, zipping myself into my wedding gown would be frightening.) I would wear a long embroidered Chinese coat. We would both wear the aforementioned feather masks.

Er, or not. When we pulled them out, they looked a little sad and bedraggled. On to Plan B.

The masks were a crucial piece of our costumes (let's face it, they were our costumes), so after an hour at the local Y, I drove to a Halloween "pop-up shop" in a neighboring town.

(Quick aside: Saturday was also the annual costume Zumba class. We were all supposed to dress as popular musicians. I was the only Bob Marley in a sea of Gagas. But, I digress.)

I quickly found an entire aisle of Venetian Carnvial masks. They were gorgeous and quite reasonably priced. I chose a long-beaked "Naso Scaramouche" in black with gold patina for my husband and a silver brocade, trimmed with lace and rhinestones for myself. Mission accomplished.

Almost.

Trying to get in and out of a Halloween store on the Saturday before said holiday was easier said than done. It took me less than five minutes to choose the masks. It took me another 35 to get through the long line that snaked along the perimeter of the shop. I went by an aisle of adorable baby costumes (bees, lady bugs, pumpkins), by another filled with creepy decorations and animated lawn ornaments. Then, I hit trick or treat pay dirt. 

The aisle of Halloween hoochies and hos.

WTF? I had arrived in the land where less is truly more. As in: less fabric, more skin. The typical costume included a bare-midriff or corset top; a short, short (short, short) skirt; and some combination of fishnet stockings, long gloves, garters, a headpiece and/or wings. It was like Halloween with The Girls Next Door at the Playboy Mansion. (Every package, btw, featured a pretty, pouting model who looked 16, exactly my daughter's age.)

There were sexy nurses, sexy vampires, sexy fairies, sexy superheroes, sexy gypsies, sexy pirate wenches. Then there were the sexy animals. Some that made sense (in a warped way), like sexy kittens, foxes and bunnies. Some that didn't, like sexy penguins. Sexy penguins???


Last, but not least, there were the sexy inanimate objects. Sexy crayons, sexy beer bottles, sexy pizza slices, and my all-time favorite: sexy candy corn.

Because nothing says “Happy Halloween” like a sexy piece of candy corn.

I understand that the whole thrill behind wearing a costume is that it gives you a chance to put on another piece of your personality. But why do so many of the options for teen girls feel more like taking off than putting on?

In one of my favorite scenes from the Sex and the City movie, Carrie joins Miranda to shop for costumes and trick or treat candy. Miranda looks at her options with disdain; the only choices for a grown woman: “Witch or sexy kitty?”

Sexy kitty, sexy penguin, they’re all pretty much the same. I’d rather be a witch. 

And — thank goodness — my daughter would too. 

If you enjoyed this post, order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

The Horror of Teens

I saw my first horror movie when I was about my teenage daughter's age. 

I'm not counting Jaws, although it was certainly "horrific." In fact, I was so terrified that I had an irrational fear of showers for many days afterwards. I was somehow convinced that a twenty-foot great white shark would make its way from New York City's (fresh water) reservoir to my high rise apartment building, shimmy up ten flights of pipe and squeeze itself out our shower head in order to dismember and eat me. 

Hey, I said it was "irrational."

The movie I'm talking about is When A Stranger Calls. In it, innocent teen babysitter Carol Kane gets repeated creepy calls: "Have you checked the children?" "Have you checked the children?" "Have you checked the children?" She finally contacts the police and they tell her they'll trace the next one. They do and — OMG! — it's coming from inside the house. Had she actually gone upstairs and checked the children, she would have found them — OMG!!! — hacked to pieces.

This was 1979. At the time, I was earning a rather handsome living as a babysitter myself. Luckily, most of my clients had small, modern apartments without second floors or as many nooks and crannies for psychopaths to hide in. This did not stop one of my close friends (a talented young man who later went off to Hollywood and appeared in such teen classics as Private School for Girls and High School USA) from calling and asking "Have you checked the children?"

Needless to say, I did check them, many many (many many) times. They were fine.

The next psychological thriller I remember is Halloween. A bunch of teenagers are stalked and brutally murdered by a lunatic in a Captain Kirk mask. The tingling piano music, while simple and repetitive, is one of the most terrifying elements of the movie. We hear it again and again as, again and again, the teens awkwardly grope each other and die. There seems to be an underlying conservative message: don't have sex or you'll be next. (Not to worry though, a spunky (and wisely abstinent) teenage Jamie Lee Curtis survives to appear in many Halloween sequels and equally horrifying Activia ads.)

This focus on teenagers was repeated in countless movies afterwards: Friday the 13th, Nightmare on Elm Street, Scream, I Know What You Did Last Summer. Basically, if you're a teenager and you use these films as a guide, you should never ever:

• Explore a haunted house
• Hang out after prom
• Go camping
• Be a counselor at a sleepaway camp
• Take a nap
• Join a sorority
• Watch a videotape
• Celebrate Christmas
• Have sex
• Own a chainsaw
• Visit a cemetery
• Or an attic
• Or a basement

While teenagers are often targeted in these movies, there are a few in which a teen is actually the monster. We'll give Carrie a pass here (after what those girls — and her mother — did to her, you kinda sorta hafta). But, how about Jennifer's Body? In it, the bodacious Megan Fox has been turned into a cannibalistic demon and she decides to go after a particularly tasty target. When her best friend, the mousy Needy Lesnicky, accuses her "You're killing people," Jennifer shrugs and corrects her.

"No. I'm killing boys."

The teen as monster is a theme that many of us parents can relate to. After all, our real lives follow a familiar cinematic formula: the other among us. At times, my own daughter, who is pretty, slim and blonde on the outside certainly behaves as if she is possessed by some dark unearthly being on the inside. Here are just a handful of the movies I could make:

Scream and Scream (Until the Homework Gets Done) 
The Thing that Ate All the Cheezits
Midnight Madness at the Mall
Friend Me on Facebook ... If You Dare
One Text Too Many

And, this past week after more than the usual girlfriend drama, homework, tests and horse shows, I could audition and win a key (if doomed) role in ...

The Teenager Who Ate My Brain.

Back by Popular Demand: Halloween Hookers, Hoochies and Ho's

For your Halloween reading pleasure, here is one of my all-time most popular Alien posts. Enjoy!

"Trick or treat?"

Halloween is trickier than it used to be. Like everything else, the upcoming holiday becomes a bit more complicated when your little girl becomes a little woman. A catsuit on a 4-year old is adorable. A catsuit on a 14-year old is suddenly a little too tight, a little too curvy, a little too much.

We live in the town next door to Salem, Massachusetts. As you probably learned in school, Salem Village (which is technically Danvers now) was the site of a horrible witch hunt, trials and public hangings some three hundred twenty years ago. If you study the period (or just rent the movie The Crucible), you recognize that what happened was a shameful result of ignorance, greed, religious intolerance and mass hysteria. Not really history that a town should be particularly proud of.

However, today, Salem has proclaimed itself Halloweentown. All through October, there are street fairs, carnival rides and "haunted happenings." I kind of understand the witch attractions (although I think they're disrespectful to the memories of those falsely accused and put to death in 1692). I don't understand the vampire attractions, except — I guess — vampires are trendy right now thanks to Twilight and True Blood. Regardless, the town makes a lot of merry (and a lot of money) throughout the month. And, those of us who live in the area avoid it at all costs.

A couple of years ago, my brother and his family came to visit us. They wanted to experience a Salem Halloween, so I drove them to the border and dropped them off, hightailing it home. When they had had enough ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night, I had to go back into the fray to collect them. One wrong turn and I was stuck in a hellish traffic jam. I tried to be zen about it, breathing, meditating, and taking the opportunity to do some unparalleled people-watching. The costumes on the happy Halloweeners were tremendous. There were countless witches, zombies, psychotic clowns, pirates, headless horsemen. And then I saw her ...

The Candy Corn Ho.

I had never seen anything quite like it. Sort of a bodacious St. Pauly Girl look, a buxom blonde in an Alpine-inspired (perky bust extending above the shelf of her bodice) short short dress. Garters, stockings, high heels. But, the strange thing was that the entire sleazy outfit was made to look like a piece of candy corn.

Halloween costumes for young women veer toward the slutty, no doubt. There are naughty nurses, precocious schoolgirls, lingerie-clad witches, Playboy bunnies. I'm probably not the target audience, but I would assume that these outfits (or lack thereof) correspond to (a) the woman's inner vision of her own secret centerfold nature and (b) a man's fantasy of what makes a hot chick hot. I don't like it, but I get it.

But, when did candy corn become sexy?

I did a little research. Here is the evolution of the Candy Corn Ho, from sweet baby to tempting teen to all out hoochie mama:

Happily, my tween daughter is still more interested in collecting Kit Kat bars and hanging out with her friends than in letting it all hang out. This year, she's either going to be a pirate or a hippie. (And, with a little oversight from her mother, she will not be a slutty pirate wench or a hippie who is tripping on acid at Woodstock and forgot which VW van she left her top in.)

Hoochie ho's aside, Halloween will be fun. But, I do wish we could go back to the more innocent days of Teletubbies and Disney princesses. I'll just have to settle for the little ones who come to the door.

Here's a holiday treat from one of my favorite urban folk singers, Jill Sobule. Happy Halloween.

Halloween Hookers, Hoochies and Ho's

"Trick or treat?"

Halloween is trickier than it used to be. Like everything else, the upcoming holiday becomes a bit more complicated when your little girl becomes a little woman. A catsuit on a 4-year old is adorable. A catsuit on a 14-year old is suddenly a little too tight, a little too curvy, a little too much.

We live in the town next door to Salem, Massachusetts. As you probably learned in school, Salem Village (which is technically Danvers now) was the site of a horrible witch hunt, trials and public hangings some three hundred twenty years ago. If you study the period (or just rent the movie The Crucible), you recognize that what happened was a shameful result of ignorance, greed, religious intolerance and mass hysteria. Not really history that a town should be particularly proud of.

However, today, Salem has proclaimed itself Halloweentown. All through October, there are street fairs, carnival rides and "haunted happenings." I kind of understand the witch attractions (although I think they're disrespectful to the memories of those falsely accused and put to death in 1692). I don't understand the vampire attractions, except — I guess — vampires are trendy right now thanks to Twilight and True Blood. Regardless, the town makes a lot of merry (and a lot of money) throughout the month. And, those of us who live in the area avoid it at all costs.

A couple of years ago, my brother and his family came to visit us. They wanted to experience a Salem Halloween, so I drove them to the border and dropped them off, hightailing it home. When they had had enough ghosts and ghouls and things that go bump in the night, I had to go back into the fray to collect them. One wrong turn and I was stuck in a hellish traffic jam. I tried to be zen about it, breathing, meditating, and taking the opportunity to do some unparalleled people-watching. The costumes on the happy Halloweeners were tremendous. There were countless witches, zombies, psychotic clowns, pirates, headless horsemen. And then I saw her ...

The Candy Corn Ho.

I had never seen anything quite like it. Sort of a bodacious St. Pauly Girl look, a buxom blonde in an Alpine-inspired (perky bust extending above the shelf of her bodice) short short dress. Garters, stockings, high heels. But, the strange thing was that the entire sleazy outfit was made to look like a piece of candy corn.

Halloween costumes for young women veer toward the slutty, no doubt. There are naughty nurses, precocious schoolgirls, lingerie-clad witches, Playboy bunnies. I'm probably not the target audience, but I would assume that these outfits (or lack thereof) correspond to (a) the woman's inner vision of her own secret centerfold nature and (b) a man's fantasy of what makes a hot chick hot. I don't like it, but I get it.

But, when did candy corn become sexy?

I did a little research. Here is the evolution of the Candy Corn Ho, from sweet baby to tempting teen to all out hoochie mama:

Happily, my tween daughter is still more interested in collecting Kit Kat bars and hanging out with her friends than in letting it all hang out. This year, she's either going to be a pirate or a hippie. (And, with a little oversight from her mother, she will not be a slutty pirate wench or a hippie who is tripping on acid at Woodstock and forgot which VW van she left her top in.)

Hoochie ho's aside, Halloween will be fun. But, I do wish we could go back to the more innocent days of Teletubbies and Disney princesses. I'll just have to settle for the little ones who come to the door.

Here's a holiday treat from one of my favorite urban folk singers, Jill Sobule. Happy Halloween.