I have been anticipating Halloween since Nov. 1 of last year - not so much for the candy or because it means I'm allowed to scare children again without getting into trouble, although these factors do merit their own amount of celebration. No, I am anticipating Halloween, like most guys, because it is the one night of the year in which college-aged women seem to be most in tune with their inner-whores.
Now, this might not apply to all college women, but even other women can admit that it applies to many.
You can rest assured that no matter what costume a guy might be wearing on the outside, on the inside, he is going to every Halloween party as a sort of meteorologist.
He's really just there to predict what the ho forecast is going to be like on campus for the next year based on the rises and falls in hoochie trends set by the previous year's Halloween.
A lot of people don't know it, but this gradual skankification of Halloween is a cherished and time-honored American tradition that dates all the way back to the late-1600s.
During the time of witch-hunts, scarlet letters and other such Puritan conquests in extreme anal retentiveness, it was agreed that for one night of the year - Halloween - as long as they did not remove their bonnets, women were allowed to expose their ankles in public.
But it was a slippery slope.
All too quickly, the women's repression got the best of them, and on the next Halloween, the ankle just wasn't enough.
Women were dressing up as witches, they wore scarlet letters they hadn't rightfully earned, bonnets littered the streets, and if my records are correct, even the lower calf made a brief appearance on one or two of the bravest women.
These women were pioneers, no pun intended. It was these women who helped forge the spirit of hoochery on Halloween that generations of women after them would carry on - from the "I'm going as Farrah Fawcett" attitude of the 1970s, to the "I'm going as Madonna" mantra of the 1980s, up through the "I'm going as an all-out, clear-heeled, corner-working hooker" motto of the 1990s and bravely on into a new millennium.
Whereas once dressing up as an angel on Halloween meant a white flowing robe, a cardboard harp and a cheap halo made out of Christmas garland, now it means go-go boots and duct taping a pair of wings to your bra from the Victoria's Secret Angels collection.
Whereas once going as a cat meant, well, a cat costume, now it means go-go boots and duct-taping a tail to your leopard-print tankini.
Oh, you're going as a police officer for Halloween? And just how much crime do you plan on being able to fight when the largest area of covered skin on your body is being hidden by your badge? That's not exactly going to instill a respect for authority in anyone, unless you're planning on busting up a bachelor party.
But that's the joy of Halloween.
When the quiet girl in your pre-calculus class surprises everyone by smutting up a set of Army fatigues, you know you have truly tapped into the spirit of being a skank for one day - a ritual our Puritan ancestors started so long ago.
Fellas, let's keep our fingers crossed for a good forecast. Ladies, don't forget your duct tape. And everyone have a happy - and safe - Halloween.
Write to Lance at lmvaillancou@bsu.edu
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