Remember my Halloween story from last year? It's here, so you can refresh your memory. So this year, I decided to wear my stunning red dress and when people asked me, I would tell them, "I dressed up for Halloween." And let me tell you, I don't think I'm being immodest or egotistical when I say that dress looks pretty good on me. When I tried it on at the department store, random strangers told me it looked like that dress was made for me. It just hugs all the right parts and is such a great color on me. Red truly is my color. (As you might have guessed if you saw the pictures of my house...)
So I went to my friends' house for their chili cook-off. Then we headed to Brookside in Kansas City for some live music. We got to the bar about an hour before the band came on, so we had plenty of time to get to know the people around us, including a half-hearted Dracula, a full-hearted leprechaun (guy) wearing a bright green dress (who knew there were cross-dressing leprechauns?), and a tall, cute, built guy wearing an orange-ish sweater and calling himself a pumpkin. They initially approached the two women we were standing near but were not with. We eventually got pulled in and before we knew it, Pumpkin was the only one left really talking to my two friends and me. He was oh so tall and really quite adorable, but oh so young. He kept making me guess his age. I perked up quite a bit when he said he was 29 because 29 isn't so bad. It's definitely within the divide by half and add 7 rule. But it was a lie. He was really 24. Sigh. 26 is the cut-off for me. (Yes, I'm 38 and I'm not the least bit ashamed.) I told him my age, but I'm not entirely sure he believed me. People often don't.
Then Dracula, the leprechaun, and Pumpkin-boy had to leave. Pumpkin looked bummed, but he was not driving, so had to follow the crowd. He asked for my number before he left. Not my much younger friends or the tutu-wearing sorority girls. Mine. Even knowing I was old enough to be his Teen Mom. And, oh yeah, I gave it.
Now, he'll probably never call. (They usually don't). And I probably wouldn't answer if he did. (He is 24, after all.) But none of that matters. Because a 24 year-old hottie asked for my number. I call this Halloween a raging success.
Oh, and I get to go to Monday Night Football tomorrow, too.