Daughter: Ok - so you have to buy plain M&Ms for my Halloween party at school Daddy. But get ones without food coloring because the teacher says that the one boy in my class is already crazy, and if he eats food coloring he'll go cuckoo.
I did two things yesterday that seriously question my credentials as a good parent.
1 - I bought my kids two plastic swords at a thrift store. And obviously they then spent hours battering the utter shit out of each other.
2 - I also bought a pink, sparkly velour tracksuit for my daughter. While it is part of a Halloween costume I can't help but believe that if she grows up to be a bona fide hussy that this purchase has gone a long way to pushing her in that direction.
For Halloween my daughter wants to be Pinkie Pie. So her mother agreed to cobble together the bits and pieces to make that outfit and I agreed to go purchase all the bits. So after bopping around looking for a pink wig and ears that look like a horses I made the bigger mistake of stopping at Subway to get the kids a sandwich. The only reason I stopped there is because it was the place in the mall we were stood closest to when I'd had enough of my son whining about how he wanted to eat Halloween candy immediately. And the fact I hadn't let him proved somehow that when his mother and I had signed the divorce papers I had confessed to being intrinsically evil. It really does serve me right for showing him all the Halloween candy I'd purchased in the mistaken belief that doing so would buy his mother and I another whole week of not giving him any because that would ruin the big day itself.
My daughter was quite excited by the idea of eating a meatball sub-sandwich - being as she is convinced that meatballs make any meal better (I know for a fact that she'd gleefully eat meatballs and ice cream at the same time) - but my son seemed to catch the betrayal in my eyes as I stopped to buy food made of various ingredients that all smell and taste exactly the same. Having just paraded around a grocery store that smelled entirely of fresh bread it really emphasized the bewildering odor that Subway seem to spray all over the place to lure customers in. Actually I'm of two minds here. Either that smell is formaldehyde - used to preserve all the ingredients indefinitely. And as I don't know what formaldehyde smells like I could be convinced it is that. Or (and more likely in my view) it's the only smell that corporate boffins have so far found that can entirely mask the putrid, evil stench of all those weird vacuum-sealed packets of meat and vegetables that Subway employees openly flaunt when people ask for a sandwich. Frankly here I'm assuming that identical discs of meat that come in small, plastic packets that some sort of odd yellowy-urine liquid in there with them smell quite atrocious. Therefore a large proportion of Subway's profits have been pumped back into R&D to come up with some scent that can hide the piss-ham odor. I've even gone so far as to crowbar in the belief that years back whichever Del Boy was sent out to buy massive quantities of reformed, reconstituted meat parts turned up back at headquarters with the story that he's landed an enormous stash of it for 1/50th of the price - but that the only downside is that is covered in piss.
Anyhoo my daughter ate that quite happily. My son had fixated his brain so laser-like on candy that he didn't even unwrap his half. Ironically in a cruel twist ten hours later he would happily go up to bed after eating an apple for a bedtime snack whilst his sister went demented-mental because she fucking-well wants candy. Still - I did get most of the things we were after. One being a pink, velour tracksuit. To be fair it's a pretty standard outfit for girls of my daughter's age. My own perception of them is tainted by the fact that when I went to college for my Masters it was the de facto outfit for certain young women hoping to emphasize that, as modern feminists, they could accentuate their independence and intellectual worth by having their tits leaking out the top and their arse look as if the material has been sprayed on. It was quite popular then to have one-word slogans written across the back of the pants too (Juicy probably being the most notorious) - but mostly that was avoided because it deterred from the fact that then you couldn't see every crevice and bump snugly displayed across each cheek. It always reminds me of Johhny Vegas' point on TV Heaven, Telly Hell (one of the finest moments on television that also includes Vegas' legendary turn on Room 101 where he describes life online better than anyone else ever will) where he derides Sex And The City's central point that you can find female emancipation and empowerment by taking it up the arse. Add that I personally hate all kinds of tracksuits and sweat pants. Not in the, "sweatpants equals giving up on life" sense - but because I think they look fucking awful and feel uncomfortable. All that loose, saggy material feels vile. Add it automatically makes my sense of logic disappear as I imagine that somehow wearing sweat pants means that if I had to run somewhere my tallywhacker would flail about like a loose limb. It's almost as if I've transposed the clear lack of comfy knickers worn by the velour-ladies at college across gender lines and assume that if I was wearing sweat pants I'd have to go without as well.
I'm straying off the point anyway. That being my daughter wants to (and shall be) and horse for Halloween. Her brother told me yesterday he wanted to be a rock. Or a boy with no arms. Quite esoteric but here's the costume he made himself.
Luckily we went to a proper Halloween store and it piqued his interest to be something more exciting. Add also his sister put this scary-as-shit thing on. It's little touches like that over-sized mask that would make a horror movie way more chilling. None of this kids facing the corner or screaming - just put the wrong sized head on them. Nightmare fuel at it's best.
They liked this hting a lot though. I like how my daughter instantly lay under it and pretended to be eaten, while my son grabbed it's gob and my son bellowed "I'm going to eat your bum cheeks" so that most of the store could hear him.
Now if you'll excuse me - I hear my son wombling about upstairs so I only have a few seconds to find those bloody plastic swords and hide them.