It may not come as a shock to you that I’m a huge pussy—especially when it comes to Halloween.
It hasn’t always been like this. When I was a kid, I would dress up and go trick-or-treating, and wouldn’t really think much of it. Of course, there were those sketchy houses that just decorated a little too much, but I simply avoided those and moved on with my life.
In my teens, I went to a haunted house once with Buttons. I don’t remember much about it other than the fact that I was pretty scared and was clinching the back of her shirt most of the walk through it.
When I graduated high school, my mom moved into a new house. A new house that had a cornfield in it. I was slightly terrified. You see, when I was in fourth grade, I watched Children of the Corn at a sleepover. I will never ever ever look at a cornfield the same way. Ever.
Throughout my life, I’ve had many fears. Fear of getting robbed, fear of getting pistol whipped, fear of getting murdered, fear of washing my face and looking in the mirror to see a man with a knife behind me, etc.
But one fear that’s stuck with me is my fear of masks.
I am scared shitless of any and every single mask on this earth. It could be a paper bag, a blanket, heavy face paint, hair covering the face, etc. Whatever it may be, I hate it, and I literally break down when I see one.
At a networking luncheon a few weeks ago, they announced a group visitation to the local haunted house, followed by a rousing walk through the corn maze.
“Lucky, are you going to go?” my coworker asked me.
“Um, no I don’t think so,” I said, trying to play it cool.
“Aw, why not?” she asked.
“Well…honestly I’m scared shitless of haunted houses.”
“Really? You’re THAT scared?” she asked.
“Um, yes. I hate masks and a haunted house is pretty much my worst nightmare. I don’t even go into Halloween shops.”
“What?! Wow. I can’t believe that,” she said.
“Well believe it,” I said.
“What if you know the person under the mask?” she asked.
“Doesn’t matter, still creeps me out,” I said.
I don’t really get what’s “not to believe.” Yeah, I’m a grown ass woman with a fear of something, get the fuck over it. Am I that crazy that I don’t want to spend $20 for someone to scare the living shit out of me? How about let’s all spend the night on the street and wait for the next serial killer—it’s free and it’ll have the same effect.
Honestly, I’m such a pussy, if I want to be scared, I’ll sleep with my door unlocked or I’ll sign up for match.com in hopes of finding Aruba’s next killer.
Most people in my office know about my fear of masks, simply because just before my first Halloween working here, I told them all if they showed up with a mask on I would leave and never return.
Well, Monday morning I got a text message from a number I didn’t have saved in my phone. The message was a picture of someone standing in the woods wearing a burlap dress, holding a pig mask over their face. The text read:
“Hey!! Since it’s almost Halloween, I thought you would like this image. I know how much you love masks. I saw it and immediately thought of you.”
There’s only one person who’s a big enough asshole to send me something like that: John.
So I asked another coworker if they recognized the number, because I thought it was John’s. and sure enough, yep.
We haven’t talked in three months, and you really think it’s a good idea to send me a random picture of something that legit freaks me out? Like, what does he expect me to say? “OMG that is like sooooo funny! I’m so happy you thought of me when you saw that pig dressed in a burlap dress!!!!! Wanna fuck???!”
And second of all, where the hell does one randomly come across a picture like that?
Happy Halloween, Bitches.