Top Chef

Every year I have a regular rant about how much I hate Halloween while all my friends are busy posting their creative and clever costumes and raving about the amazing parties they attend.

Bah humbug! Who needs the empty calories? Why waste money on a throw away outfit that seasonally enriches Goodwill?

This year, I relented and promised to attend an annual costume party thrown by a life-long friend of mine. I am invited every year and up to this point I have found some lame excuse not to go. I could not find one this year, so invited a friend to go with me as moral support and began searching for the right not-store-bought-cliche costume.

I considered professions.

I considered hobbies.

I considered passions.

Bam!

Well, not exactly, bam as in Emeril, “BAM!” but close. Pretty darn close.

Profession. Hobby. Passion. I would go as a “Top Chef.”

White shirt. Black pants. Apron. Top hat.

Whimsical and a good belly laugh for anyone who knows me. Everyone knows I am a bottom*/versatile** chef.

The afternoon before the party I decided I needed to take a nap so I could stay awake for a trip to San Antonio (where the party was located) and for the party. I woke up the next morning with the lamest (but most honest) excuse for not attending the party ever: “I slept through it.”

It did allow me to continue my, “I hate Halloween” meme and gave me a good excuse to hide out in a Mexican restaurant that night until all the invading horde left my neighborhood.

*If you are lost, see Urban Dictionary

** Likewise, Urban Dictionary