Taking One for the Team: Or, How I Got Talked into Being Unikitty for Halloween

My kick-ass Unikitty mask

Being a dad means taking on rough jobs, whether it’s unclogging toilets, cleaning vomit, or dressing like a big pink LEGO kitten for Halloween.

My son had a tricky time deciding what to be for Halloween this year, but finally landed on Emmett, the construction working main character of the LEGO Movie. In spite of the show’s popularity, we couldn’t find a single costume manufactured to look like any of the LEGO Movie characters. During our pursuit of a construction vest and Piece of Resistance, my family joked about us all dressing like characters from the movie. Immediately, my son said my wife should be Wyldstyle, the DJ-named master builder. My wife turned around and insisted that I be Unikitty.  Not Batman, not Vitruvius, not even President Business. Unikitty.

For those unfamiliar with the movie, Unikitty is a pink, block-headed kitten that lives in land of rainbows and lollipops, and meets every challenge with syrupy sweetness while tamping down her seething rage.

At first I insisted there was no way in hell I was being Unikitty, but my wife and son were adamant that it would be the best possible costume. They thought it would be hilarious, and I’m a sucker for making the laugh. I also knew it would likely be one of the last years that my son would tolerate his parents dressing up for trick-or-treating, let alone dressing with a family theme. I’m sure that in the years to come, he’ll scoff at any suggestion that we dress up with him, and I’m sure as a middle schooler he’d drop dead from embarrassment if we aligned our costumes with his. So, I sucked it up and I did it: I became Unikitty.

As a dad, I think it’s my job to do whatever it takes to make my family happy. Sometimes that means accomplishing very practical tasks, like holding a job and making money so that we can have the comfort of food, home, and heating. Or, it might take the form of family activities, like apple picking, visits to the pumpkin patch, or trips to the amusement park. But other times it’s making a complete fool of myself to get a laugh.

I’m not a natural at putting myself in uncomfortable, semi-humiliating situations for a good laugh. My wife is naturally funny, irreverent, and goofy, and has such a knack for making herself the butt of a joke for a good laugh. She’s always ready with a crazy face, story, song, or dance. I usually have to be prodded to be the clown. Most of the time she has to spur on my goofiness, whether it’s making me do a weird dance, hiking my my pants up under my armpits, or giving me a wedgie that rips my boxers by pulling them over my head (yes, this has happened). Plus, there’s usually the double-embarrassment of photographing or videotaping the incident.  I may feel self-conscious or ridiculous, but I’m so glad she encourages it. These times of goofiness are some of the most fun we have as a family, and are the times when we fall out of our chairs laughing, nearly peeing ourselves. Isn’t that what family’s about?

I’m actually a bit uncomfortable dressing up as a big pink box-headed kitten for Halloween. Especially since I have to see other fathers who wouldn’t be caught dead in a costume like mine. I kind of feel like a nervous kid who risks a daring costume or piece of clothing and fears that his friends are going to make fun of him. But screw that. My family wants me to be Unikitty.  They think it’ll be hillarious, and that’s all that matters. So, for this Halloween, I’m happy to take one for the team, and strut around the neighborhood in second-hand ladies pink pajamas with a box over my head. I’m Unikitty, and I’m proud.

 

Fifty Shades of Mortification

So my wife asked me to read Fifty Shades of Grey. I hesitated, but finally agreed to listen to the audiobook, because (like many) couldn’t bring myself to tote around the tell-tale grey-tied book cover. Went to audible and downloaded it to my cell phone so I could discretely listen to the story.

I was at the YMCA early one morning when it’s typically filled with senior citizens and middle aged folk, and I started some stretches. I popped in my earbuds and opened my audible app. Pressing play, nothing happened.

Figuring the volume was turned down, I jacked it up. Even though the volume was turned to the max, I could only faintly register the voice of the reader.

I spent about a minute investigating my audible app and searching my phone’s settings page, all the while hearing a faint voice recounting the story of a red room of pain equipped with whips, riding crops, and nipple clamps.

I attempted adjusting the cord, and that’s when my heart shot to my throat, as if I were suspended upside down by Mr. Grey himself. My earbuds weren’t plugged in, and my phone was broadcasting its dirty tome to the Y’s grey-haired visitors. I plugged in my earbuds and ran, red-faced, to a treadmill.

I don’t think the seniors at the Y will look at me the same way again. Damn you, Mr. Grey.

 

Post-script: While writing this post and attempting to pull this image from my phone, the story popped back on, reading aloud to everyone in the coffee shop. Oh my.

Post-post-script: What’s up with Anastasia Steele’s inner George Takei?