A bride should always keep her groom guessing. Donâ€™t you think? Shoot! You donâ€™t even need to be a bride to a groom. Iâ€™ll expand that sentence to declare, â€śA person should always keep the world guessing!â€ť And so I do.
The holiday of witches, pumpkin heads and black cats, scary spooks and black hats is upon us! Boo! Itâ€™s nearly Halloween! Youâ€™re lucky enough to just read me in the newspaper. Should you ever be reading it in my cabin when I wake up in the morning youâ€™ll need the newspaper to hide behind. Iâ€™m scarier than a mean, scary, dragon monster woman when I first wake up. That husband of mine must be attracted to mean, scary dragon monster women. I woke up and he said to me, â€śHave I told you youâ€™re the prettiest girl in all of Barnes County?â€ť He says that just before he decides to drive me over to Cass County for the day and then Iâ€™m just a run-of-the-mill wife again. It takes a real looker to compete against those Cass Country girls.
Heâ€™s expecting me to wear the President Obama mask I insisted he buy me at an auction. I just had to have it. I didnâ€™t care how much he had to bid to win it for me. The auctioneer began, â€śIâ€™ll take a twenty-five dollar bid now. Twenty-five dollars can I get twenty-five? Whoâ€™ll give twenty-five dollars now?â€ť
I may be mostly Republican but Iâ€™m surely not stupid. I never allow him to bid what the opening bid is unless itâ€™s for a new pair of sexy Carlos Santana shoes. I really wanted this mask though. I shook my head to that husband of mine giving him the go ahead to raise our bidding number. We were going to bid the opening bid but just like we wait for the real story on what happened in Libya to come out â€“we too waited to bid. The auctioneer dropped the bid to just ten dollars. â€śLetâ€™s try a ten dollar bid now.â€ť The auctioneer stopped his cadence and bantered a bit with the crowd. He was more obviously a real Republican than even I.
The crowd laughed at what he said. They laughed but they didnâ€™t bid. When nobody bids the auctioneer drops the price again. This time the auctioneer said, â€śCome on. Will someone give me two dollars?â€ť I ainâ€™t no two dollar Republican so I yelled, â€śA buck!â€ť Iâ€™m fiscally conservative through and through. I won the mask. I won it but I refuse to wear it. If Iâ€™m fiscally conservative then that husband of mine is just one thing. Tight! If, for instance, we go to the Chinese restaurant and I order extra broccoli he first asks the waitress, â€śWait. How much will that be?â€ť I give it to him in a language he understands. I sarcastically say, â€śLess than it will cost to have my colon removed.â€ť Husband is going to have a fit when he figures out I wanted the mask as a collectorâ€™s item and nothing else. When he complains Iâ€™ll just put on my sexy Carlos Santana shoes, give him one of my best Barnes County girl smiles and use the lesson my Economics teacher, Mr. Weiss, taught me in high school. Iâ€™ll grin, bat my eyelashes and say, â€śPayeth your nickel, taketh your chances.â€ť Once he sees me walking off in those heels heâ€™ll forget about that rubber mask.
I need a costume that will really turn him on. I need a costume that will make him think Iâ€™m a piece of candy instead of him having to give me any.
So for over a month Iâ€™ve been thinking about Halloween. When Iâ€™m driving I spend time remembering the past Halloweens Iâ€™ve lived. I smile at the crown my mother made me out of tinfoil when I was wee. I smile that I thought I was the most beautiful princess in all the kingdom and not just in Barnes County (according to that husband of mine) and all because my forcedly fiscally conservative mother made me a crown of aluminum foil. I moved home to North Dakota, USA in 1999. My mom, Pat Larson, was still alive back then. I dressed her up as a very believable Raggedy Andy doll and I was Raggedy Ann. She sat outside the house that cool October evening on her Electric Mobility scooter. She had pumpkin gourds in her basket and bags of candy in a cute, polka-dotted bag attached to the side of the scooter. The pumpkins I carved earlier in the day sat with glowing eyes on the steps. My mom and I sat outside giggling at ourselves and at the cars that drove by on Sixth Ave. SW that year. For those of you who knew my mother youâ€™ll understand. Her sense of humor could be stunning. As cars drove by she would nudge me and say, â€śWe need someone to stop. Jodi, pull your dress down just enough for them to see the â€śI love youâ€ť heart you drew to make yourself look like a real Raggedy Ann doll. At least the men will stop.â€ť
Like I said earlier-I ainâ€™t no two dollar Republican and Iâ€™m surely not free! I scoldingly said that thing I had to say to her often and always while rolling my eyes and shaking my head. â€śMother!â€ť
Not but a small handful of little people came up our street for tricks or treats that year. That would have disappointed most people. If my mom were still alive I think she would agree we just enjoyed being our silly selves that night instead of a mother who knew she needed a daughter to help and a daughter who wished her mother well again. For that night she didnâ€™t have disabilities and I didnâ€™t have the stress of my cares. We were incognito, we had mounds of our favorite chocolates and we had each other.
But that was then and this is now. Iâ€™m not going to wear the President Obama mask and I canâ€™t wear my sexy Carlos Santana high heels. I wear them for everyday and donâ€™t want them to become some un-sexy Halloween prop. No sir! I need a costume that will ravish my groom! I need a costume that when he sees me in it he will drop to his knees and salivate, licking his lips and moaning for me. Even Christian women need to be reminded to share their womanly gifts more often with their men.
Men deserve what we were created to offer them. We took a vow and our grooms deserve to get it as often as they want it. We should always obey when they ask for it. We should be giving it to them in quantity and never holding back.
Thatâ€™s why this Halloween Iâ€™ve created a tater tot hot dish costume. Trick or treat?
Ingstad lives on the prairie near Valley City and writes this column for the Times-Record.