The Bone-Rattling Sound of F*-Me Pumps

Monday night, Halloween, Sergei and I took turns taking the kids trick-or-treating (or 'legalized begging'). Sergei did the first round while I handed out candy to a (surprisingly small) cadre of young passers-by. We had the usual plethora (a plethora!) of chocolate bars and assorted sweets to give out, but the big-sellers were chocolate eyeballs and gummy fangs. Oh yeah, baby, even the little kids squealed with sheer blissful greediness when I showed them a blue-eyed choccy before I bounced it into their bag. (By this distraction I was even able to hand out some of the 'kick or treat' cards from the Boy-child's taekwondo do jang, more shameless begging.)

It was pretty boring.

I did the New York Magazine crossword and munched a kit-kat and drank a whole diet coke and listened to the footsteps crunching outside, waiting to see if they'd come up our path.

When Sergei and the kids returned, and Girl-child got bandaged up from her tumble outside, and the full plastic pumpkins of candy had been dumped, I took my sweet progeny out for a quick jaunt, maybe a dozen houses.

Because.

The kids hadn't been to the most important house in the neighborhood.

The Spider House.

So named because every Halloween, the owners of this charming little two-story go balls-out decorating, and they always, ALWAYS, have this giant inflatable spider on the roof of their porch. Day and night. The kids clamour for me to drive by it on the way to school, and back again ("the spider house! the spider house!") This year the house also had a HUGE inflatable black cat over the walkway, a graveyard in the front, and a myriad of tombstones and hands sticking out from the grass.

Kewl.

We dashed across the street and got about 6 houses out of the way, then crossed back and headed for the Casa de Eight Legged Freak.

As we passed underneath the inflatable black cat, it made hissing and growling noises that made even the small Girl-child laugh. The man of the house was out front, just sitting in street clothes, not scary, and our walk up to him tripped various switches that produced groans and moans and screams from various decorative elements. He gave the candy, we thanked him and turned to go, once again under the black cat, and nearly bumped into....

Uh....

I wasn't quite sure what.

There was this figure there, a man, very large, very tall.

In drag.

Walking up the walk, under the black cat, up to the porch, tripping the groans and moans, up to get candy, talking to the owner like a stranger.

He was wearing a feathered hat. Black bustier covered by a sheer blouse. Skirt above the knee. Fishnet stockings. Black fuck-me pumps. Gloves. A purse. And more makeup than could be plastered on a dozen women.

As I was trying to get the kids through 'just five more houses' before we wandered home to get dinner and out of the sprinkling rain, I really didn't let the drag guy 'register' with me. But something was creepy about it. I suddenly got paranoid, he was a BIG guy, and looked sort of, well, out to prove something. And his shoes made horse-sized 'clomp-clomp' sounds on the sidewalk. I hurried the kids to the next house, and the next, and down the street, and back again, out of the rain, into our own house, safe and warm.

Later that night, it hit me.

The guy at the Spider House. I think...maybe...he was finally 'coming out' as a transvestite.

I mean, think about it...it's Halloween, you've been dressing in women's clothing in the privacy of your bathroom, no one knows, and what better time to break it to the neighbors than dress up in your fanciest getup and go door to door.

Makes sense, I guess. 'Cause the gay bar in town that used to have Drag Shows has long since closed. (Those shows were awesome, BTW.)

Or else I'm totally wrong, and the guy was just dressed up to go to a party, haha, big tough guy in a skirt, got hungry on the way there, and stopped off in some random neighborhood to get a quick snack.

Someone should tell him to work on his makeup, though.