To grandmother’s house

I had a Halloween identity crisis and changed my costume at the last minute. It was not the wisest decision nor most considerate decision, since that meant I had to pick up my costume from my parents’ house and Rama had to change his costume, too. But, you know, I was being a girl.

The morning of the party, I made a trek to OC to pick up my little red riding hood cape. After climbing a mountain of boxes and fighting spiders and other frightening creatures, I found it tucked away beside a kimono, a Hawaiian shirt, a witch hat and a nun habit. On my way home, I stopped at Wal*mart for some schoolgirl knee-highs and a frilly nightgown for Rama, in case he wanted to be the Big, Bad Wolf dressed up as grandma. He didn’t use it, but with a painted on mustache and goatee, he still looked Big and Bad.

The party was fantastic fun. There was a cool crowd, fine food and a constant stream of good music. Our potluck contribution was my homemade mac’n’cheese. Mom had made fun of me for choosing to make the non-delicacy. “Ay nako!” she laughed. “If you’re going to bring that, why not just make it out of the box?” But my efforts didn’t go unnoticed. It went well alongside the carrot souffle, mushroom risotto and pork tenderloin. There were also some special treats, like the sweetest caramel apples, white chocolate covered strawberries and Russian candy. If I were smart, I would have tucked those in my basket, but I went home, instead, with a full stomach and a cheek sore from laughing.

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