If you can't say something nice, keep your skank trap shut.

Halloween is notoriously a night of over-indulgence, many candy-coated bad decisions, and no shortage of extra skin. I have made no secret of my personal dislike for overtly sexy Halloween costumes, but that has more to do with a preference to keep my own jiggly toosh and sub par cleavage covered. I don't judge those who decide to embrace the fantasy of Halloween and rock the thigh-highs and platforms. I really don't.

But, to the barely-dressed, walking felony who talks smack to the unassuming chick at the bar, I'm gonna pull your ratty hair out of your head and beat you with it...

Last night I joined my brother and his crew at Deux. It was the typical Dallas lounge scene, and I was pretty much over it the second I walked in. Don't get me wrong: the company and tunes were on point, but I am really not a fan of the clientele these places usually attract. However, a few Coronas and smattering of hilarious, creative costumes later, I was enjoying myself and over the whole fish-out-of-water sensation.

Until, suddenly and with quite the fanfare, a tiny blond hottie walked in. She was sporting (I’m not making this up): a platinum blond side ponytail, painted-on pasties (seriously, what's the point?) and angel wings, boyshorts, and snow boots. Of course every eye in the place fell on home girl, which, no duh, is exactly what she wanted. She even did a little twirl. Still.no.joke. I stole a quick glance and went about my business as my Sesame Street character-clad friends stared on in shock/horror/lust. Now I am certain that I did not sneer as I customarily would have at such a display because, Your Honor, my freshly Botoxed face would not allow it. (So ha!) But did this stop Slutty McSlutterson from giving me grief? Not so much.

She came behind me as I was ordering drinks for Elmo (my very plush brother) and tapped me on the shoulder. I spun around, marveled at the fact that this girl would find any need to speak to me, only to be further floored when she uttered, "And for the record, I'm a hairstylist." Two blinks. And then she walked away.

Now, had I not had a history of dealing with trifling, drama-loving chicks, I would have chalked this up to a confused, drunk utterance rather than the insult implied. My brother overheard this exchange and (so innocently) remarked, "Does that girl like your hair?" I heart him. "No, dear brother, that whore meant it as an insult." Brother takes a gander at my hair, blinks, then says, "I don't get it." I smile. "Nor do I."

I determined later that her comment was likely retaliation for whatever inappropriate utterance my brother and his friends spouted upon seeing her, though I'll never quite understand what makes insulting the girl who is with the offending gentlemen an act of equalization. But whatever. There's obviously a lot I don't understand about girls like that.

But what I have learned: dressing conservatively (as a young female) makes you more of a target on Halloween than just going with flow and flashing some ass. Also, mouthy brother + obnoxious skanky girls = sister in the line of fire.


Lucky for me, I've got thick skin.

And great hair.