Costume Change

Do you have this in a bigger size?

At the gym, my good friend Angelina (not her real name) and I do a Halloween post-mortem.  "Did you find the school girl costume for your daughter?" I ask her. Angelina, a psychologist, an expert on the behavior of young people, rolls her eyes.  "She wound up borrowing a French maid's costume from her friend.  This is after I wasted twenty minutes at that Halloween store on Riverside, trying to find the school girl costume.  Everything costs likes $70.  So I'm on the cell phone, walking up and down the aisles, describing the stuff and she's crying hysterically on the other end.  I start yelling at her to make up her mind, I've got to get to my hair appointment. Then my husband gets on the phone and makes it worse.  Now I'm yelling at him and my daughter is still crying in the background, like this is the most important thing ever.  It feels like everyone's looking at me, and I'm worried I'll run into someone who knows me. 'Oh look, there's Dr. Jolie (so not her last name), the school psychologist, yelling like a lunatic.'"  Of course, I'm laughing my ass off during her sad tale.  It's easier with sons.  Their only goal at Halloween is to look like an idiot.  "So how was your Halloween?" Angelina asks me.  "Fine.  Not too many trick-or-treaters.  My son went to a party and lost the funny black wig we always wear on Halloween.  We've had it for years.  We've all worn it at some point.  It's a family hair-loom.  Get it?" Now I'm laughing at my own pun.  If I don't, who will?  Angelina smiles.  "That's cheesy enough to put in your blog." Done.