It's only a Walk of Shame if you're dressed like a slutty decorative gourd.

I f*cking hate Halloween. (If you tuned in yesterday, you already knew that.) But I've recently become interested in this, the day after Halloween. Why? Because if The Walk of Shame had its own holiday, it would fall on this most auspicious day. But I tell this story without judgment. Let’s face it: we've all been there.
I walk to work, right? And I walk past several apartment/condo complexes. Today on my walk, I saw the following:
-          A Sexy Kitty Cat (I gotta give this one to her. She was still wearing her ears. THAT is commitment.)
-          Alice in Wonderland
-          A dominatrix (although it’s hard to say whether she was Walk-of-Shame-ing or just leaving work. I dunno.)
I, being the royal pain in the ass that I am, waved and smiled. Kitty Cat would NOT look at me. Alice froze like a deer in headlights and then scampered off. Dominatrix nodded and kept walking. Which brings me to my next point: If you’re going to do The Walk, do it with confidence. It’s only shameful if you make it so.
Unless you’re dressed as a “Sexy Baby” or a “Sexy Nun.” Then you should be ashamed of yourself. Not because you shagged someone and he’s too much of a dick to lend you sweatpants and a t-shirt. You should be ashamed because you have shitty taste in costumes.
One can do the walk with confidence. I have seen it. Picture it: Betty Page costume complete with leather bustier, seamed fishnets, and a riding crop. Walking past a church. On Sunday morning. She looked awesome. Because in a moment like that, you have two choices:
1.       Hang your head in shame, scurrying under the trees and fast as you can past the church-going people.
2.       Catwalk the shit out of it. It’s Sunday morning and you are dressed as a pinup and carrying a sex whip. Clearly you have balls. Flaunt them.
She went with Option 2. And more power to her!
The Walk of Shame is an excellent lesson in confidence, truly. Because it shows that you own your decisions. “Yea, I know I’m dressed as a Slutty Poodle and I’m still wearing my collar and pink wig as I leave this apartment building, but I looked awesome last night. And once I shower and get a cup of coffee (or 5) in me, I’ll look awesome again. What are you staring at, Captain Sweatpants?”
And odds are that you did look awesome last night. Even though I hate Halloween, I do love costumes because you get to be someone else for a while, even if only for a few hours, which is a pretty spectacular opportunity if you think about it. So walk the Walk of Glory, not Shame! It’s easy!
…Ok, so it’s not THAT easy. I feel that I need to impart some ground rules here:
1.       Be a friggin' adult. If you are under 21, any of the precursors to such a walk will make you pregnant AND DIE! (Mean Girls was on. What can I say? But in all seriousness, I was back at my college Alma Mater for Homecoming the other weekend and I literally saw a girl’s vagina.  I wish I was joking and could tell you that it was a mirage or that I was hallucinating. But I cannot.  It was out there. It was real. Her skirt was what I would define as a large headband. And she was grinding up on a boy who was backed against the wall. Let me tell you, kittens- that shit is gross. If you are young enough to be mistaken for a high school student still, you are too young to be doing anything shameful and should go back to your dorm room and watch re-runs of the Animaniacs all night while eating animal crackers and drinking Hi-C. Oh. And call your mother.)
2.       Do at least remove your stage makeup before leaving. Actually, you should probably do it before the magic happens. Because that shit gets everywhere. And you don’t want to get texted a bill for new pillowcases because you “just had to do the full makeup like the cast ofCATS for your kitty costume” or “would never be taken seriously as a peacock without boob-to-scalp body paint.” Hint: Glue some pipe cleaners to a headband, buy some purple and green eyeshadow, stick some peacock feathers to your ass and call it a day like the rest of us. Ain’t nobody gonna be impressed by all that Martha Stewart shit. Unless you are dressing up your baby. In which case, PLEASE pay attention to every detail of that friggin costume because I will be living vicariously through you as my ovaries scream loudly at me while I drown my hormones in wine. TRUTH.
3.       Do not leave barefoot. Put your shoes back on like the grown-ass lady you are.
4.       Do remember all of your articles/accessories/personal effects before leaving the dwelling. Odds are that you won’t want to call that person to get your tiara and ID back.
5.       And lastly and most important of all: if you are too drunk to form coherent sentences, you are too drunk to go anywhere from which you would have to walk, shamefully or otherwise, the next day. Go home, lady.
And to you, her friends, follow the rule: If you know for a fact that she would never hook up with that person sober, DON’T LET HER HOOK UP WITH HIM WASTED. Because odds are, she’s blacked the f*ck out and won’t remember any of it. But she will remember that you let her go. And she will be right. You did let her go. And don’t feed me that bullshit about how she’s an adult and can make her own decisions, that you’re not her babysitter. Because I hate to tell you this, girly, but if your friend is so shitfaced that she can’t stand up independently/just peed on herself a little in the bathroom and you are sober enough still to realize how drunk she is, YOU ARE HER BABYSITTER. Put her in a cab and send her home. Or better yet, put yourself in the cab with her. Make her some EasyMac and put her to bed. Because in days after, when she is asked to name her true friends, the ones who let her go home with Johnny NeverCallsYouBack won’t make the list. But you, the one who got her home safely and held her hair back and then ordered a pizza and put on Parks & Recreation because she was too drunk to operate Netflix, you will be at the top. You can take that to the bank.
Now that we've done that bit of housekeeping, here's the next thing I appreciate about this day. The day after Halloween is a lot like Leap Day or New Year’s Day. People make lots of resolutions:
*   I am never drinking again.
*   I am never wearing fake eyelashes again.
*   I am never dressing up as a Sexy Care Bear again. (Though, this is just good sense, kittens.)
*   Etc.
I was so inspired by these brave ladies that I've made a few of my own. Why wait until New Years to make resolutions and not keep them?
*   I will lose 20 pounds so that I can dress like a slutty Big Bird next year in confidence.
*   I will start the vegan thing in earnest on Monday.
*   I will stop being so curmudgeonly about Halloween.
*   I will stop bitching about NaBloPoMo.
*   I will floss more regularly.
*   I will never mix tequila with wine ever again.
*   I will come up with better things to write about for this month than my hostile uterus.
*   I will stop stalking all of my friends and acquaintances who have babies’ Facebook profiles for pictures of their newborns dressed like Subway Sandwiches, lambs, and tiny footballs. Because let’s face it, I’m not doing myself any favors there.
Happy Thursday, y’all!
What are your Day After Halloween Resolutions?





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