Uneasy lies the head that wears the plastic crown

Like straight-leg jeans and red wine, Halloween is something I usually like more in the abstract. I love the IDEA of dressing up in a clever yet sexy costume and going to parties with spiked cider and good candy (no hard, bland peanut butter things in orange and black waxed paper), but the cleverest costume I've ever had was devil horns with a blue dress -- an idea I stole from someone else -- and the party thing depends on someone actually HAVING said party.

So I usually find myself marking All Hallow's Eve by buying way too much good candy and hoping in vain for trick or treaters.

Tuesday, Melissa brought in a handful of 40-cent plastic tiaras, so half the women in the newsroom spent the day with tiaras shoved at odd angles into our hair. I really enjoyed mine, because the added height solved the problem of people not being able to see if I'm at my desk, and who hasn't wanted to be a princess?

I went out for a walk at lunch and quickly noticed I was getting a lot of second glances. At first I thought, these boots were TOTALLY worth $150. Then I remembered I was wearing a Barbie-Corvette-pink plastic tiara.

I suppose in other cities, this would be unremarkable. In New York, it's probably the least weird thing happening on any street at any given moment. In San Francisco, they're everyday attire (for the men, anyway). But D.C. is not really a city given to whimsy.

If you ever find yourself in that situation, tell yourself this: Tiaras are not for shrinking violets. You can't wear one while looking at the sidewalk and shrinking into your coat. Throw your shoulders back, look the world in the eye and work it.

Otherwise, you'll look ridiculous.