Monday, November 03, 2008
How Scary Is This?
I had a hard time coming up with a Halloween costume this year. I’m too old to go the slutty costume route, which ruled out almost everything at Ricky’s. I was too lazy/broke to do anything elaborate. As I was walking down the street debating costume ideas in my head, a mother ran over my foot with her stroller. Instead of apologizing, she shot me an accusing look as if the whole thing was my fault and wheeled away in a huff. Right then and there I decided to go as a Park Slope Stroller Mom, that quintessential Brooklyn child-bearer whose hobbies include believing that her kid is a mini-deity to be worshipped by all, self-righteousness, and refusing to pick her kid up as they toddle stair. by. stair. down the subway steps, not caring that there is a long line of people behind them trying not to miss the train.
For my costume, I went with Converse sneakers for their easy walking capabilities and a t-shirt depicting the Brooklyn Bridge that read: The Subterranean by Jack Kerouac. As a final touch, I picked up something called a "light weight popcorn beret" at Urban Outfitters But the most important thing I wore was an expression of entitlement (see above).
I found a cheap stroller at KMart as well as a Baby Alive with blonde hair and blue eyes to convey a sense of realism. I gave her a bottle of Brooklyn Lager to carry to convey a sense of alcoholism (for when the kid inevitably turns to drink because Mom is smothering her). When I wheeled into a party at my friend's East Village apartment, everyone looked at me in disgust until they glanced down and saw the fake baby.
“Ohmigod, I so thought you were real,” someone gasped. “Love the cap!”
I spent about 10 minutes ramming into people with my stroller and running over their toes while shouting, “Out of my way you single, non-baby-having bitches!” and “I have to get to The Co-op!” Then I quickly lost interest in my new lifestyle and abandoned the stroller in a corner. When my friend Jesse asked where my baby was, I shrugged and said, “I dunno, she’s with the nanny somewhere.” An hour later, I returned to find her upside down in the seat. Someone had taken her beer. I felt my first pangs of mother’s guilt. If this were real life, Baby Alive would’ve been Baby Dead or possibly Baby Molested.
But there was no time to dwell on my failings as a parent. It was time to hit another party on the west side. I tried wheeling the stroller down the sidewalk but partygoers were weaving all over the place and I had trouble getting around them. “Ugh, just pick a linear path and go with it, people!” I thought. And don’t even get me started about the ones standing in clusters! “Don’t you guys have a bar you should be in or something?” I muttered to myself. She and I clattered down the subway stairs to find that the subway entrance was closed so we clattered back up the stairs. Someone kindly helped me carry the stroller.
Back on the street a group of malcontents in their twenties were sitting on the doorstep of a brownstone hating on all the costumes that passed by. “Joe the Plumber!” they shouted at a guy in overalls. “I thought you were funny the first 100 times I saw you tonight!”
When I rolled by, one of the girls cackled, “Ooh, you have a baby! Aren’t you original? Aren't you special?” I considered shooting her the finger, but that would’ve meant letting go of the stroller handle and I was just getting my stride.