46.

Halloween

Alright, when did I become the crazy lady who dresses up her dog on Halloween and waits by the door, huge bowl of candy under her arm, peeking anxiously through the blinds? When did I become the person who says, in a high-pitched voice, “And who do we have here?” I just said that: “And who do we have here?” By “we” do I mean “And who do me and my small dog dressed in a wee leprechaun outfit have here?” Seriously, what am I doing with my voice? I can’t seem to just say, “Oh you’re so cute.” Instead, there is giggling and “ooooohing” happening: “Ooooohing, you’re so cute!” I’m basically squealing.

And holy crap, I just said, “Hey, where’s my trick or trick?” to a little Thomas the Tank Engine. Who am I?

During my first semester teaching at the U of A, I dressed all in orange, put on a headband with two ghosts on springs, and brought a giant bag of candy to my 8:00 class. This morning at 8:00 I met with a group of my Business Writing students and they gave me a full run-down of their client project proposal. Really, the “And who do we have here?” excitement makes sense. I don’t know who to be on Halloween, so I’m performing the role of the women who used to give me candy when I was kid (or a teenager, because let's face it I went trick or treating way beyond the appropriate age). I don’t want to be the crazy candy lady or the all-business teacher lady—I want to be somewhere in between, preferably wearing a springy headband.