Friday night Todd told me that it’s good for me to go out and socialize. He said this on our way to bowling (him) and the restaurant (me). He said it because I said if it wasn’t for the annual Halloween party, I wouldn’t even be going.

Why? Because I had a headache. Because I felt bad for leaving my dog. Because I don’t like the ride up there – on the back roads and stupid drivers who piss my husband off. Because in the restaurant Mom is Queen and the center of attention and, while we do get to spend some time together, it’s not exactly quality time because people are forever interrupting. Now, I don’t begrudge those folks. People love her. They want to talk to her. To be clear: I’m not talking about the folks who are FRIENDS & Family We Choose. Just the randos.

Also, I quit drinking. And I’m reminded of a comment I heard a husband had said recently about his wife: “sober [name] is not as much fun as drunk [name].” I can’t speak for her, but I think Todd found out that sober Tara is not as much fun as drunk Tara – at the restaurant.

So this year we did not do the couples costume – because, bowling – because he arrives after 9:00 and by then the party is winding down and last year nobody knew I was Sharon until Ozzy arrived. I had an idea this year but then I stumbled upon the one I decided on and Todd didn’t care either way. I went as Edgar Allen Poe.

Eeeeazzzzy. I already have the brown hair. I already had a white button-down shirt, black pants, Todd’s black pea coat, and a stuffed black crow who could pass for a raven. From Amazon I got a black scarf I used as an ascot (didn’t work very well) and a package of mustaches aptly named “Mustache Party” and now I have a great idea for our next party.

I applied brown matte eyeshadow under my eyes and in the creases under my cheeks (called nasolabial folds and now I must text my “sister” Tree to see if she knows this).  She is a fountain of information, some of it NSFW, which is one of the ways we bonded regularly. (Update: “I can’t say I use it a lot in day-to-day conversation. Like- you have really pretty nasolabial folds.” She doesn’t use it “a lot.” And this is why I love her.)

So the mustache has an adhesive backing on it and once applied acts a great deal like botox and I was unable to fully smile or laugh. This proved hilariously funny to the girls at the restaurant. Meanwhile, the people who knew me …. did not recognize me.

One person said they wondered who the man was next to my mom. The other, a musician who has played there for over 30 years, came over to talk to mom and looked at me and did a double-take and, “0h it’s YOU!” Complimented my work and THEN asked, “is that, is that your hair?” Why yes, yes it is. Yes, when I part it this way it looks like I’m balding. Thank you for noticing.

I ate with that mustache on. It only fell off later, likely because I was overheating. My brother, who arrived about a half hour before Todd returned said, “just rip it off!” as it flapped in the wind. I set it on the bar napkin and mom picked it up and put it on…. and now I’ve come up with my own short story we’ll call the Sisterhood of the Traveling… Mustache.

The night was…nice enough. Last year Dianna was there, though she didn’t stay long. This year, only one person that I know well enough came in. Otherwise, strangers – all. I felt a creeping sadness as the revelations washed over me… that everyone is getting older. Times are changing, again. Where do we go from here? What will this place look like ten years from now? I’m so afraid to even think it.

Andy, the musician, said to mom and me, “look – it’s Jacque Miller!” pointing at the silver skeleton on the barstool leaning against the wall. We three laughed out loud. We were the only people in that entire restaurant who understood the joke, why it was funny, and it struck me as a little bit sad and a little bit nostalgic. There are so many stories from this place. So. Many. Stories.

I was ready to go when Todd walked in. He sat down and poured an 18-year Glenmorangie scotch and mom ordered both him and Matt dinner and all I was doing at that point was watching the clock ticking dangerously close to 11:00 and … stone cold sober. I started getting pissed.

As I drove home, having chosen my preferred route home even though Todd always insists it’s longer (bullshit motherfucker – not when my foot is on the gas) (no, I did not call Todd a motherfucker – it’s an expression, bitches), I asked him if he has ever been somewhere and felt a physical ache to leave and yet felt – “trapped?” he interrupted. That’s when I realized the irony of this question. “Like a prison?” he said. Okay fine, I said. I get it. So I’m not as much fun as I used to be.

Anyhoo, Halloween last night was a bust. Not many kids are coming through our neighborhood anymore. No plans to sit out and wait for them, I placed a bucket of candy on the front steps. Todd and Neph were still working on his truck in the driveway and I’d made and eaten dinner and went to see how things were going. I wandered over to my neighbor’s where several of the ladies had gathered in her garage, having decorated their gators/golf carts, etc. and placed bowls of candy out for a one-stop-shop for the exactly three trick-or-treaters that came through.

I felt like a crasher, but they welcomed me in with offers of a warm seat and some witchcraft-fortified wine or whatever the fuck it was. I quickly realized I’d peopled enough the night before and just wasn’t up for more small talk. I’m terrible at small talk, especially when I’m tired. Also, at my age I’m also terrible at faking it and, frankly, I don’t give a fuck anymore. I quietly backed out of the garage in a – what I hope was – my best Ninja-Irish goodbye and felt no guilt whatsoever.

To Todd’s point, I am perfectly content to sit at home and read, write, do whatever. I don’t need people. I mean, I don’t need them for a few days. I argued that I am around people at work all day/week. My job is like stage work – always “on.” He argued that it’s not the same as social time with your people. The people who truly know you. The people you can be your whole true self with. He’s not wrong.

I miss you – Holly, Chris, Erikah, Treena, Tracy, Joyce – in no particular order. These women know Tara.