one night in mythology
I love Halloween. I’ve always had a soft spot for costumes and disguises, but Halloween has always taken the cake. Because on that one night, you don’t just dress up. You become someone different. It’s the night that we’re all invited to shed our comfortable suburban selves and join the national masquerade. For a few hours on the one night, being someone else isn’t identity theft or playacting. It’s normal.
And I dearly love when my behavior is normal. It doesn’t happen much, but we take what we can get.
Naturally, this holiday requires a great deal of thought from me, as I can’t bear the idea of wasting the opportunity. I make my own costumes, and am not the best seamstress, so I usually go for something that can be a thrift store alteration project. I’ve already exhausted the easily recreated literary and historical characters, so I was having problems making a decision about whose skin I was going to slip into this year. And then I stumbled upon this picture.
It wasn’t as much of a lightbulb moment as a “bloody heck absolutely yes why didn’t I think of this?” moment.
You see, to say that I like Medusa is an understatement of gargantuan proportions. My love of the Medusa story borders on obsession. I sketch pictures of her. I tell stories about her. I wonder how I could factor her into my children’s names.
And for one night, I get to be her. I get to climb into the world’s best hair day, and become my own childhood heroine. I get to spend one night in the mythology that’s been my bread and butter for years.
Normal has never felt so good.