After forty-two Halloweens spent handing out candy to little goblins and ghouls from the safety of their porch swing, Bert and Joyce finally decided it was time to join the party. They were retired, child-free, and bored out of their minds. “Bert,” said Joyce, one late October afternoon, “I want to do something wild this Halloween.”
Bert nearly choked on his prune juice. “Joyce, the last time you said that, we adopted a cat that hated me and joined a Zumba class we couldn’t pronounce.”
Joyce winked. “This is different.”
Come Halloween night, Joyce announced she had the perfect costume. “Don’t peek,” she said, before disappearing into the bedroom with the dramatic flair of someone who’d watched one too many soap operas.
Bert waited in his recliner, dressed as Count Dracula (cape, fake teeth, and orthopedic shoes included), when Joyce reappeared.
She stood proudly in the doorway. Naked as a peeled potato.
Except for one thing.
Around her waist was a single string. Just a string. Tied in a bow at the front like a questionable birthday present.
Bert blinked.
Joyce beamed. “I’m going as a tea bag!”
Bert stared, then wheezed out a laugh that rattled his dentures.
“I call it ‘Earl Grey with Attitude,’” Joyce added, striking a pose that made the cat leave the room in shame.
“But… where’s the rest of the costume?” Bert managed.
Joyce held up a teacup. “This is all I need.”
Bert, ever the gentleman, said, “Joyce, my dear, if we step outside like that, the neighbors will think we’ve joined a new-age yoga cult. Or started a pirate ship for the visually impaired.”
Joyce pouted. “Fine. I’ll put on my cardigan. But the string stays. It’s the essence.”
Now Bert, not to be outdone, returned to the bedroom and emerged ten minutes later dressed in an ill-fitting Superman costume… over his thermal underwear. He’d cut a hole for his belly button because, as he claimed, “Even Kryptonians need to breathe.”
The pair stepped outside and made their way down Maple Street, causing a mix of laughter, confusion, and one child to drop their pumpkin bucket in shock.
At the community center’s Halloween Bash, they were an instant hit. People thought Joyce’s outfit was performance art. “Minimalism,” one teenager whispered in awe.
Another said, “It’s like Lady Gaga’s grandma, and I love it.”
Bert won “Best Use of Long Johns in a Superhero Role,” while Joyce tied with a guy dressed as a haunted toaster for “Most Unexpected Costume.”
As they danced to a spooky remix of “Monster Mash,” Bert leaned over and said, “Next year, let’s just be zombies. At least that comes with pants.”
Joyce sipped her punch and grinned. “Not a chance, Bert. I’ve already bought glow-in-the-dark string for next Halloween.”
