Do the words, “It’s spooky season!” fill you with dread? Are you absolutely confused why someone would put themselves through hours of gore and jump scares when Law & Order: SVU works just fine? I get it! Perhaps you were traumatized as a child and have zero interest in having a panic attack on a Tuesday night. Or you’re just a wimp who can’t handle anything that’s not a rom-com. (Like literally, same.)
To help you through this ghastly time, we’ve designed a template on how to turn down tickets for “Fright Fest” or whatever fucked up Halloween pun these crackpots have come up with, without seeming like a total loser who hates fun. So next time your least favorite friend throws “Scary movie night at my place!” or “I hear someone shit themselves at this Haunted House. We have to go!” into the group chat, we’ve got you covered.
Hey [Boo/ My Little Pumpkin Pie/ You Bad Witch]!
First of all, I just wanted to say thank you soooo much for inviting me to [Child’s Play: Demonic Dolls Movie Marathon, Someone For-Real Gets Murdered Tonight: An Immersive Experience/ Escape Room at the Not-So-Abandoned Asylum]! You know how much I love the thrill of [crying in public/ activating my fight or flight/ paying out-of-pocket for therapy], but, unfortunately I cannot attend as I’m preoccupied with [my upcoming lobotomy/ listening to my neighbors have loud sex through my apartment’s thin walls/ scrolling on TikTok til my thumbs bleed].
I want to make it clear I don’t have any issue with Halloween being your entire personality. I like that you’re so obsessed with ghosts and stuff, but I care too much about our friendship to not be honest: [you should unpack why you need the thrill of fear to feel something/ Paranormal Activity didn’t need seven movies/ if you crave adrenaline, have you tried tax evasion?].
Because if I’m paying someone to scream at me in a small room it better be for [kink play/ Catholic guilt/ I took the last doughnut from the office kitchen again].
And, listen, this isn’t meant to be passive aggressive. I’ve totally forgiven you for [stealing my Yankee candles for your seance / giving me a rash from oils blessed by the full moon / giving my father a full-on heart-attack when you jumped out with a clown mask]. We’ve all made a full recovery (well, my father hasn’t). But do it for the plot, right?
However, if the plot involves a dumb, hot cheerleader, terrible cell service, and/or a grown man wearing a mask I could buy at Party City, I am not interested. I intend to fully support your “spooky era” in other ways, like [dressing as a slutty version of a beloved childhood character / letting you buy me candy / watching Halloweentown with the lights on for the 100th time].
Basically, it’s not you, it’s me. I simply prefer to spend my evenings not fighting off a panic attack, while you prefer to have a 40-year-old out-of-work actor named Gary put the fear of god in you when he chases you with a chainsaw until you soil yourself.
Anyway, hope you don’t ghost me for this message. (Ha ha, see what I did there? You love that shit right?) And don’t worry, I can still attend your chihuahua’s exorcism! He sure needs it. Or at the very least, I’ll see you at Friendsgiving.
Hugs and kisses,
P.S. Would love it if we could revisit the conversation about adding Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You” back to the party playlist. You know how much I love the holidays!