Aladdin asked if I wish to see the genie in a bottle hoisted to his hip. The invitation was declined for endeavors like force feeding my face with chips from the table near the angel-devil couple openly kissing on the couch.
In my perfect world, every man would come dressed to Halloween parties as Frank Sinatra-whisking gals away to the dance floor while humming tunes like, “I’ve Got the World on a String,” or strap a beard to his face with a button-up Colonial suit as worn by Ulysses S. Grant, 18th President and General of the Civil War.
After all, pantaloon pants, genie lamps and chest hairs never impressed women such as a Union general with a loaded gun.
Standing in the middle of a parade of red cups, retired beer cans, a high-heeled Tequila Girl and her straw sombrero, the Joker’s smeared smile, and sexy Dorothy-feels unsettling.
Unfortunately, there are no Sinatras or war hero-turned-presidents to be found.
Besides the angel-devil still sucking face on the couch, the scariest thing about Halloween parties isn’t being without a costume. It’s finding a costume that’s sexy, yet screams self-worth.
Efforts must be made by both sexes to maintain mystery in this generation of bunny ears and thigh-high fishnets. Divert from the skimpy blue dress and red slippers. Follow the Yellow Brick Road to where men and women dress up as classy, reputable figures on Halloween night.
Halloween could potentially be a day of high dignity. Women must find the inner Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, Queen Elizabeth Catherine the Great as opposed to any slutty abomination of health care professionals and comic book characters.
Imagine ghosts bowing down to their majesties as they trot into Halloween bashes, ghouls trembling at the sight of lacking sleaze.
After assessing my fellow shot-taking peers, there are far worse things than being costume-less at a costume party-like accepting Aladdin’s invitation or dancing with the Joker who doesn’t know the first thing about humming a love tune