As a kid I hated Halloween. Blame the egg yolk that fell on my face. Actually, the culprit was the teenage boy behind the egg yolk; from a rooftop in Washington Heights (NYC) he threw a soft-boiled egg at me when I was 10 years. It oozed down my face and I cried all the way home. The coward didn’t even have the decency to show his face! And neither did the dog that dumped me on Halloween.
It was 2001. At 23 years old I did what every 23-year-old woman did on Halloween: dress up as a “sexy” something or another for a costume party. This time I was a sexy cat. Basically, I threw on a headband with kitty ears, painted whiskers on my cheeks and jumped into a tight-ass, black catsuit. I looked hot. I felt hot. Which was needed since it was 20 degrees outside.
The brisk weather wasn’t the coldest aspect of the night. It was Sexy Dog, a guy I started dating right after college. We met at Rumba Nightclub, a bar in the Bronx. He met me on the dance floor and his hips connected with mine. We flirted, laughed and made out like 20-somethings do without concern for the real cuco – herpes. What can I say? I was young and scared of nada!
Back to Sexy Cat Sujeiry. Sexy Dog called the night before to ask what I was doing for Halloween. We agreed he’d meet me at the costume party at Coogans, my fave bar in Washington Heights. (Until a guy I met there stalked me for months and I could never return. ) Only Sexy Dog never showed up.
I told him to meet me at 4pm. It was 6pm day of and he still hadn’t showed his paws. I text Sexy Dog a photo of my super Sexy whiskers to entice him. No response. Not even a “how cute,” “can’t wait to get my paws on you” or a wink. (I don’t think we had many emojis back then). So I called. And called. And called. And called. I had already downed three Bacardi and Cokes and two shots of Jose Cuervo. What can I say? Sexy Cat Sujeiry liked to party.
8pm. I finally get a text. “I think we’re moving too fast…”
Mother fucking dog! Was he standing me up? Was I being dumped on Halloween? I cooled my jets, I couldn’t show him Sexy Crazy Sujeiry just yet. I only revealed her when men were enamored with me.
“What do you mean? How so?”
“This Halloween party with your friends…we just met last week…”
Fair. He was scared. We could slow it down.
“Ok…it’s ok…I get it. We’ll just chill…” I responded, trying not to sound needy.
“No…I think we just need to call it.”
Uh oh. I could feel Sexy Crazy Sujeiry coming unhinged. Dumping me on Halloween? He was going to get the scare of his fucking life.
I called him. And called. And called. And called. No answer. So I let a rip. I left 10 voicemails, one for every day we chatted and made future plans. I text him some more. Called him a pendejo. Told him he could go to hell. And some other nasty things about his kissing skills.
When done, I turned to Bacardi and Coke and my friends. By nights end, my sexy whiskers were smudged mascara and my cat ears were lopsided. Sexy Cat was now Sad Alley Cat. Cause I was dumped on Halloween. Over text. Maybe, just maybe Sexy Dog was the teenage boy behind the egg yolk. He got me again. Fucking coward.