Australians really aren't big on Halloween. They know Americans are the same way they know everything else about Americans -- the movies. But really it rather mystifies them, which I suppose rather goes with the territory of the event, come to think of it.
After they figure out which day it is (October 30th? 13th? Last Friday?), they're set to say, "oh, that's why you're dressed up" to passing Americans, but not much else.
I went to a Halloween party this year with several Australians over the age of 21 who admitted it was actually the first Halloween party they'd ever been to. And yet they ask why the world needs Americans.
Australia as a country simply isn't equipped to deal with Halloween. For starters, there are no pumpkin patches, let alone hay rides, s'mores or scarecrows. You can't get apple cider, apple dip, apple chips, caramel apples or candy apples, let alone bob for them. Pumpkins present a particular challenge.
I got an urgent call three days before Halloween. "Kim!" asked an Australian co-worker, "Is it okay get a green pumpkin?"
"A green pumpkin?" I asked. "Why?"
"I'm at the store, and that's all they've got. Will it still work?"
"Well, it's a little unorthodox, but I'm sure it'll do," I said, my mind racing haphazardly to St. Patrick's Day's green and orange fiascoes.
The next day I got an elated text: "Do U have morning class thus morning? Please come down to reception during you'd break U'll B proud of me!!!!!!" Turns out there was one sickly semi-orange shade of pumpkin, which was now smiling broadly. I named him Draco.
My American friend faced a different problem. She could find pumpkins, but none for under $24. She bought it and her Australian husband proceeded to carve it, then ask why it caved in two days later. Evidently no one had told him you're not supposed to carve out all the flesh with the goop.
Seeing as I am a teacher, I did dress up slightly (but only slightly) the day before Halloween, since the day itself fell on a Saturday this year and my students would not otherwise get to experience the joy of trick-or-treating.
I came to class with ladybug wings and antenna and they gasped and giggled and ooohed and aaahed as if I were extra who escaped from The Lord of the Rings. I then proceeded to write "Trick or treat, smell my feet, give me something good to eat!" on the board and made them practice it until they could say it almost entirely from memory. Then I shooed them out of the class and had them knock on the door and recite it to me.
I'd meant for them to come individually, but after the first knock I was greeted by entire chorus serenading me with a hesitant cry along the lines of "Trick or treat! Smell my feet! Gi-(indistinguishable sounds blurring together in approximately the right intonations, clearly mixed with a fervent hope that they could soon stop embarrassing themselves in the corridor)---------!!" I nearly burst with pride.
"No, no," I explained, "individually. Come one at a time." They looked at me as if they did not understand this bizarre idea at all, but I shut the door in their faces so they were forced to fend for themselves. After a few false starts, we soon got on our way, and each student in turn recited their new rhyme and received their loot until only one student was left in the hallway and seemed prepared to wait there until further notice. I hesistated a few seconds, then opened the door.
"Oh! You poor little boy!" I called. "Are you shy? It's okay, come on, you can get some chocolate anyway. Here here."
And so my class learned about Halloween. That part they did actually like. And they didn't mind too much the bit that came next -- writing skits about Dracula and Frankenstein -- but they looked ready to murder me in cold blood when I announced what was coming thereafter.
"And guess what!" I told them enthusiastically. "After the break you get to perform your skits for another class! Isn't that exciting?"
Several of them immediately developed severe stomach cramps.
"Oh dear," I said. "I knew I shouldn't have fed you so much candy. Run to the bathroom and come back in a few minutes. I'm sure you'll all be fine."
Fine as soon as we get out of here! their eyes scowled to me.
"Happy Halloween!" I said brightly.
After school there was a Halloween cruise for them, and some of my co-workers dressed up to go along, but seeing as I went as a mermaid this year, I saved my costume for the real deal. It's awkward enough meeting friends of friends for the first time in a lacy purple bra, let alone your students.
Which was where my octopus came in. He was the cutest little tattoo, but seeing that he was of the iron-on variety, I had decided not to affix him to my skin by any permanent means, which, all in all, is a decision I still stand by. We had a fabulous time at the first party, hobnobbing with geishas, samurais, Scotsmen, devils, witches and one-eyed-one-horned-flying-purple-people-eaters, but somewhere before take two (pirates, Cubs fans, vicars in masks, Puritans and exercise-addicts) he decided to swim solo.
And so, if you find my octopus, would you please bring him back to me?
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