That is “boo,” as in a word used to scare people.
Not the urban dictionary “boo” that refers to a boyfriend or girlfriend.
Nor the “boo” that is uttered or shouted to show contempt, scorn or disapproval.
Not even the “boo” used as an informal word, such as, “You never said ‘boo’ to me about overtime.”
(Did you know the world’s cutest dog is a Pomeranian named Boo?)
Nope, I was working on my scary boo yesterday morning.
Until I realized that I needed a costume that wouldn’t offend anybody.
That became a lot harder than I had realized.
The more I plotted and planned, the more the bagged candy treats reserved for little door-bell ringers were opened and consumed.
Roughly two bites-sized Baby Ruth bags later and a handful of jelly-something-or-others, I was a nervous wreck. And I still had no costume.
This is hard not offending someone.
I would have to go as something that doesn’t exist…
A traveling middle school athlete?
A Gold Medal woman basketball player?
I heard they were in abundance at one time.
What to do?
I could try a ethnic costume.
Marvel Comics type of guy?
Nope. Somewhere, someone would find fault with my tights I am sure.
I could be homosexual.
Why not? My son is gay.
So I called my son.
“Just because you listen to Lionel Ritchie doesn’t mean you can pull it off,” he told me.
I will offend myself.
I decided to attack my Swedish heritage.
My costume of a pickled herring was a hit.
Due to my attempt at being authentic, however, the stench was so retched that I attracted neighborhood cats with an affection for tearing my tights. Plus the sugary confections consumed earlier did not sit well in the aroma of my ancestors.
I became ill and thus missed the entire evening.
As in “bummer.”