Skip to main content

Trick or Treat…A Safe Halloween Story

I have quite a few favorite Halloween stories. There’s One Creepy Crawly Story, Humpty Dumpty, and this one among others... and by the way, please except my apologies about getting a little off schedule with posting. No excuse, although I hope to make up for skipping a week or two by posting a treat from inside Storytella—Trick or Treat. [Note: Story has been edited for length.]

No glove, no love. He was an engineer, and I mean the real mathematician engineer type. The type who worked with the absolute and resolute, and not the finite philosophy…if that, then see this.

With the thick black-framed glasses, orthodox haircut, cotton-twill dress shirts with the Sears pin-striped neckties, penny-loafers…he just had the whole math-collar preppy look defined down to the scientific gray matter. I read him like the book he followed. Nice, pleasant, but a prudish nerd. I didn’t even fool around with a flirtatious dialogue. He wouldn’t have understood a thing I said, or so I thought.

His business with me was having me hem his pants, or replace broken zippers, or sew on missing buttons… little stuff unmarried mathematicians didn’t usually tend to. There were a few others whose clothes I repaired too, one being a bubbly young woman who told me about this Halloween party. She asked if I wouldn’t mind making costumes for the party, which I humbly accepted.

Within the first week a few people came over to have costumes made. There was a red devil, a jester, a playboy bunny, and a few more along the adult theme line.

“Man,” it crossed my mind… “this is going to be one swinging Halloween party!”

The following week a few more stopped by for costumes...a vampire, a pimp, the belly dancer… and then there was the mathematician who told me he would have to describe the costume he wanted made.

He pulled a poly/cotton broadcloth blend of fabric from a bag. Natural in color, the type fabric sold in bulk, though he pulled out what I’d estimate was eight yards. It was quite a bit of fabric, but then he was a tall man…about 6’5”- 6’6”.

The way he traced his finger around the fabric, showing me how I was to cut it, I quickly picked up the costume was to cover him from the top of his head to his feet, plus there needed to be extra fabric left at the bottom to roll up a few inches.

But by the puzzled look on my face, he felt it would be better to draw the costume he wanted. I agreed, handing him pencil and paper, to watch him draw what looked like a baby’s bottle. It was exactly what he traced on the fabric using his finger.

Still puzzled, mostly because I couldn’t understand why he couldn’t just tell me what he wanted, like everyone else had, or maybe brought me a pattern, I just smiled and thanked him for trusting me with the project. The design wasn’t much trouble to handle at all. In fact, his costume would be the easiest to make. It only required making sure he had two peepholes to see out of and a tip at the top, with a few inches of fabric left to roll up at the bottom. The only kicker I couldn’t get out of my mind was the stress he put on making sure there was that tip at the top.

A couple days later everyone picked up their costumes, to include the mathematician. He smiled when he saw what I’d done for him. It was exactly what he wanted, except a few weeks later the super bubbly woman stopped by. She was dropping off jeans to have zippers replaced, and eager to know how I felt about making the mathematician’s costume. His costume apparently was the life of the party.

I didn’t know what to say…other than I enjoyed working with the mathematician. He was a super nice man, always so polite…and of course, I was very excited that everyone enjoyed his costume and what I’d done.

She looked at me, as if she was waiting for more. But I had no more to say. I couldn’t tell her I thought it was really strange with the way he handed me the job. I wouldn’t have dared said a word, not with him being so nice.

But that wasn’t good enough for the super bubbly woman. “Do you know what it was he had you make?”

I had to be honest. I really didn’t know. “No, he never told me,” I said.

And she laughed loud, just as bubbly as always. “He came as dressed as a...”

...and no tricks, but if you’re unable to guess, then the answer can be found inside Storytella.


Popular posts from this blog

A Rumor About One Race

It’s a funny thing, how some things you hear stay with you in that sixth sense sort of way, as if the information will serve some future purpose.

True Story. I was in elementary school when a teacher got to talking about three true races—Caucasian, Mongoloid, and Negroid, and how one day there would be One Race. For a placeholder I attended Philadelphia (PA) Public Schools, K-straight thru-12 (99.98% black student population) where there was always ‘that’ teacher who would put aside a textbook to impart ‘move to the edge of your seat’ information... something I later figured out would take “dynamic positioning” to find its originating source. I even think the teacher may have said we wouldn’t find this information written anywhere.

At any rate, I’m all kinds of fuzzy about how the original three races came to be, but recall 3rd grade hands going up in the air asking why this and how that and what about this, and then somebody saying, “unt un... my mother said...”

Naturally I was intr…

When Opinions Cross the Line

Two literary topographies brought this historical commentary together; a social media Headline asserting some books are irrelevant, and Stacey Dash’s memoir, ‘There Goes My Social Life’. (My other thoughts here).

I didn't pause long enough to so much as note the social media headline, but did pause after catching wind of Stacey Dash's outspoken stance on supporting American businessman and Republican politician, Mitt Romney. Stacey is an American Actress notable for her role in the film CluelessSIGH—I’ve never seen Clueless, but have seen this actress in other films... which was what inspired me to want to read her memoir. Being a Big Picture thinker, I couldn't make heads or tails out of the hoopla behind her outspoken political views.

My great-great grandfather, born in America in the mid 1800’s, was a Republican. Per my father, historically the American working class primarily voted Republican, though he, and then me, marveled about my great-great grandfather's r…

What Makes a Book Feel Good? ...A Top 10 List

When you it’s said... live and learn, you learn LOVE comes in stages. So far, I’ve come across three stages of love. Puppy Love. Hormonal Love. And the ultimate love. Unconditional Love.

Lo and behold albeit, after finally getting around to reading Roy Blount’s memoir, “Be Sweet” (a memoirist who has at least twenty some years on me), I got to reading him summarizing unconditional love as ‘just an expression’ ..."like any other two words." Now, because his memoir is largely satirical, and given the title, on top of knowing better to think I know more than my elders (haha), it was hard to tell whether to take the definition seriously or facetiously. Whichever the case, as of today I define unconditional love without conditions. Unlike puppy love, built largely on a giddy childish infatuation superficially marveling over things or people, or that hormonal love responding to the cyclones and ebbs moving our hormones in this invisible like cylinder, there are no ifs, ands…