Richard Simmons is not a whore

Many times I’ve questioned my status as an adult. My ability to continuously lapse my health insurance serves as a frequent reminder that being in my thirties could possibly be an adulthood facade.

However, that all went out the window this weekend.
Now I know I am adult. For sure.

I went to a Halloween party. And I did not dress in a slutty costume.
Whhaaaat?
I know. Can you believe it?

I have always been a fan of slut costumes on Halloween. I don’t enjoy other’s slut costumes but mine have been creative. A slutty clown! A slutty postwoman! They’re original. Right? I mean, RIGHT? (There might have been a slutty ladybug in there one year, but that was in an emergency.)

I have supported fishnets and mini cop uniforms on hallow’s eve because Americans are repressed sexually. Admit it. We are. In order to cave into their desires, congressmen have to sneak into public bathrooms and do a little tappy tap to find what they want. And vibrator is a dirty word. And when Janet Jackson shows her nipple on TV, people talk about it for YEARS. The. Horror.

But we’re animals. We’re supposed to fuck all the time. That’s what we were originally programmed to do. And we are doing it. Population is about to hit 7 billion. We’re definitely doing it. But it’s mostly in private and it’s not really talked about that much. So, I’ve always thought Halloween was a holiday that allowed us to finally be the sexy bitches we were born to be. Slut Clown– yeah baby.

But now, with the popularity of sex tapes and the epidemic of short skirts that barely cover vaginas, my theory of Halloween as a day of sexuality release has been negated. Girls are dressing like street walkers on a regular basis (I know this because I visited a Forever 21 this weekend and got lost in the ‘dress’ section that I was sure was the shirt section.) Yet, we are still repressed. Congressmen are still meeting in bathrooms. And the media goes haywire when a famous person texts a penis picture.

Just your average precarious labia coverage on an average day in Hollywood. 

I admit when I’m wrong. So my slutty Halloween days are over. This year I dressed as Richard Simmons. I have been in love with him since I sat on the couch watching my mom Sweat to the Oldies. He’s fun. He’s peppy. He’s not slutty (that I know of.).

I had the best time. I could dance without worrying about my labia sliding out. I ended the night without sore feet. I was able to wear some sort of boob support under my shirt. I would say my fun quotient increased as my slut factor decreased. Imagine a graph, if you will. When you dress as a whore, people stare at your assets. And you’re dressed as a whore. So, you’re very aware of people staring at your assets. Even if  you’re just a moderate whore and not a real one, there’s still a lot of eye-fucking going on at a Halloween party.

But as Richard Simmons, I felt invisible next to all the whores! I danced how I wanted. I boogalooed. I made loud jokes. I stood with bad posture. No one eye-fucked me. No slimy guys tried to venture into my gym shorts. Only old ladies who remember the Deal-a-Meal cards tried to take my picture. I was just myself (dressed as Richard Simmons, but acting like myself.) And I had so much more fun!

I had more fun acting like myself. What a concept.

I say this is a win. Congressmen, please, learn something from this and just go to a gay bar. Thanks.