On October 31st I’m going trick or treating in our PM Malcolm Turnbull’s street in Point Piper. I’m going to wear my lovely signature single mother ghoulish fashion; my statement piece is a T-shirt saying:
Liberal Government Have Ended Negative Gearing
On the back it says:
Tax Rate for BRW Rich Listers Rises to 73%
Hopefully, I will scare the sinister people in Malcolm’s neighbourhood and if the AFP let me stay, there may even be a sighting of the ghost of Turnbull’s leadership. As our Prime Minister will be in Israel, perhaps his servants will join me in the hunt for Turnbull’s spine but I may just end up with a cauldron full of broken promises.
Then on the Day of the Dead, November 1st, I’m going to hop on my broomstick and haunt the streets of Mal’s Wentworth electorate dressed as a bat in a Barnaby Joyce mask. Anyone want to help me trick some very spooky politicians?
Halloween is a day of celebration for dentists, who shout “Ka-Ching!” as they book skiing holidays at expensive resorts while our kids gobble sugar. Single mothers also love to be a part of the pagan goddess ritual of decorating houses with cheap crappy decorations made in a Chinese factory and the foraging of bags of sugar and chemicals to feed small beasts. Every year, as we make our way down our friend’s streets (never in our neighbourhood) I barely hear the cries of, “Mum we haven’t got enough lollies,” because I’m too busy flirting with the dads I’m chatting up.
I love Halloween. At work I try to make sick children happy, and scaring well kids on October 31st is a brilliant release. I can stick warts on my nose, paint my face green, have a few beers and channel my inner scary mummy. I love to rise to the challenge of freaking out a kid who has a decapitated head stuck to his chest. Last year I happened to be driving the clown van on the night of Halloween. As a bonus, I managed to embarrass my teen who was hunting in a pack with her besties with my elegant clown fashions.
On October 31st, macroneurotic parents are unpopular, shunned along with their raw, vegan, unprocessed dairy, wheat and taste-free ‘treats’. On All Hallows Eve I don’t cook dinner and my kids get fed by strangers. My youngest child has perfected a sweet innocent look that fools most people. Her blood-curdling scream is evil. I pretend she doesn’t belong to me.
But there’s one thing I don’t understand: Why take a toddler or a baby to Halloween celebrations especially if they’re your eldest child? Parents save yourself the trouble until your kids are at school and stay home with a cheeky bottle of fun. I nearly ran over a rampaging preschooler dressed as Justin Bieber last year.