An Open Letter To People Who Go Balls Out On Halloween

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An Open Letter To People Who Go Balls Out On Halloween

Dear People Who Go Balls Out On Halloween,

I’m not referring to people who choose Halloween costumes that expose their testicles. If you are one of those people, you’ll probably want to close this page and move on to a different open letter that deals more specifically with your definition of “balls out.”

If you’re someone who goes balls out in a metaphorical way, though, this letter is for you. If you bring your A-game every Halloween, I want to thank you. Here’s why:

Yesterday I was taking a walk around my neighborhood. Besides a “Happy Halloween!” banner here and a jack-o-lantern there, no one has really put up any Halloween decorations yet. But then I stumbled upon one house that more than made up for everyone else’s slow start. The entire yard was filled with giant inflatable spiders, cobwebs, ghouls, and black cat cutouts. There were huge blood-streaked bedsheet ghosts hanging from the branches of the tree in front of the house, and, somewhat inexplicably, headless cement mannequins propped up against the trunk. It was a truly weird, scary, glorious display.

As I snapped a photo, I couldn’t help but smile. What would Halloween be, I thought, without people like this? It made me realize that Halloween would be nothing — NOTHING — without the special breed of Halloween maniac who goes balls out every damn year.

So, to that one person at the office who gets dressed up in an elaborate costume and stays in character all day even though everyone talks shit about them in the break room, thank you for your dedication.

To the person who busted out the fake cobwebs, Styrofoam gravestones, and “Monster Mash” playlist on October 1st, thank you for your enthusiasm.

To the haunted house actor who takes their role as a zombie taxi driver very seriously, thank you for your passion.

To the neighbor who decorates their front yard with a blood fountain and animatronic gargoyles despite multiple stern warnings from the homeowner’s association, thank you for your zeal.

To the rich people who give out king size candy bars, thank you for your generosity.

To the person who started hand-sewing their costume in January, thank you for your ambition.

To the party host who spends hours filling their house with demonic dolls and preparing puff pastry intestines and eyeball cookies, thank you for your hard work.

The rest of us might not be able to match your level of obsessiveness, but you’re the reason Halloween is the creepy, strange, over-the-top spectacle it is. Without you, this holiday — hell, this whole month — would be comprised of little more than bat-shaped sugar cookies and last-minute Miley Cyrus costumes (which are fine, they just don’t hold a candle to a handcrafted papier-mache velociraptor suit).

For that, I salute you. And even though I’m a little afraid of you (and not just because of that disconcertingly realistic ax sticking out of your head), I’m grateful for your contribution.

Respectfully yours,
Winona

[Photo of man in devil costume via Shutterstock]

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