Last spring, while I was in the throes of a major love affair with Left 4 Dead, I worked hard to convince my daughter that she should dress up my frickin' adorable granddaughter as a zombie for Halloween. I was making good progress, too. I promised my daughter that I would let her choose my costume if only I could make up her daughter as one of the rabid undead. Imagine how cute my one-year-old granddaughter would have been as a rotting, animated corpse.
I emphasize "would have been."
My wife--because this is what my wife does--was browsing online for costumes when a brilliant flash of insight struck her in the forehead and knocked her off her chair. "I've got it," she cried. "Curious George. The Granddaughter can be Curious George for Halloween."
Now I like Curious George as much as the next 40-year-old male, but my world was suddenly spinning out of control. My hard work was going down the drain. The hours spent convincing my daughter that the little one would be sooo adorable in a zombie costume were now simply wasted time. It was clear to me from my wife's tone that our granddaughter would be Curious George for Halloween.
That meant, of course, that somebody had to be the Man with the Yellow Hat. Hmm, I wonder who she had in mind?
The brim of the hat sagged, and the "boots" were big, black floppy pieces that tripped me up whenever they got the chance. Plus, after half a block, the temperature within the suit climbed to about 400 degrees. The surface of the planet Mercury would have been more comfortable. The things I do for my wife. And my granddaughter.
Fortunately, she is as adorable as a monkey as she is as a human baby, so people were too busy oohing and ahhing over her to pay much attention to the yellow monstrosity that was holding her hand. At least a few people did recognize us as George and the Man with the Yellow Hat, so our acting was passable. Nevertheless, it was not what I had expected while I nagged my daughter to death about dressing up as zombies. Come to think of it, I did feel a little undead on the inside while wearing that costume. The pictures below will show you how frickin' adorable that girl was.
The night wasn't a total loss, however, because I did get to show off The Granddaughter to the neighborhood. And I stole most of her candy. (Don't tell Granny!) Plus, thanks to some chewy green stuff, by the end of the evening, she did look something like a zombie. That's some consolation.