Halloween sort of haunts me as a concept. It is fraught with outfit questions: When does sexy become too much? When does poking fun become offensive? When do we get to go home and take off these dumb ears?

This year, I thought about how I could include my leg hair in my costume. Dirty Hippie? Bigfoot? Second-wave feminist? I thought about Gloria Steinem, but she’s a controversial figure these days. Also, my friend nixed Gloria and told me Halloween was for silly costumes. I guess Gloria is too serious. Her glasses are very serial killer-esque.

Anyway, Halloween is around the time when things start feeling sad. The days are shorter, and midterms have arrived and seem to be here to stay. With all its promises of fun and excitement, Halloween stands as a glimmering beacon of hope.

It’s sort of like when New Englanders tell you that you need to find a winter sport, or learn to enjoy cocoa, wear knit sweaters and snuggle up with a furnace. And you want to say, but, but, but, I can do all of those things in San Francisco. Then they’re like, it’s not my problem — you chose to come to this school. And you both scowl at each other because you know you chose this school, and they know California is better.

Halloween is sort of like that. It’s this thing that people tell you to get excited for because they know the weather is going to shit. Everyone has found their sad corner of the library that has their favorite monologue penciled into the cubby by the last sad library dweller. On the way to said cubby, they think back to a time when they might have ventured elsewhere to study. But not now. They return, like salmon to the creek, back to the same corner because the misery is familiar.

All that time spent in wooden cubicles really gets everyone into a frenzy about Halloween hook-ups, myself included. Cue imaginary conversation: Who are you going to end up with tonight? Are you doing a walk of shame right now? Oh my gawd, you’re the coolest.

So, it’s that time of year. And everyone starts to believe in the fantasy of Halloween. It’s like those big Hollywood movies devoted to a day — Valentine’s Day, New Year’s Eve…Halloween.

Everything can change in a night! You’ll finally meet the person of your dreams and fulfill every Tufts student’s deepest longing to join the pool of graduates who marry a fellow Jumbo! Think of the pride! Think of the wedding pictures in front of the cannon or Goddard! Think of all the things one can do with a blue and brown color scheme!

I have believed the myth! But no longer. The universe has communicated that Halloween is not my night. In years past, I’ve tried to fix relationships, I’ve had bad sex and I’ve been flat out rejected. To the fine folks who read (skim?) this column, I’m here to tell you that I have found the secret. Stay indoors, eat a lot of candy and, if you’re lucky, enjoy the company of two spelling bee champs with a Bloody Mary in hand.


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