There comes a time in every woman's life where she must choose a path. Stay home or move away? Be a self-made woman or go after a rich partner? Family or career? And, most pressingly, do you wear the slutty Halloween costumes, or make fun of those who do?

I chose the latter path in my adult life--and it's a safe path to take. Women who dress up like sexy devils or sexy angels or French maids or nurses or kitties or whatever make easy targets for Daria types like me. Where's their dignity, after all? They probably left it in the bar somewhere between their second and third shots of pumpkin-spiced vodka before going home with the guy who was either dressed ironically like a priest or the guy who was dressed like the woman with big fake hilarious boobs. Where's these women's originality? Does it not bother them that they're unlikely to be the only girl who dresses in that outfit that night, and that they'll be compared to others in the same costume? Where's their self-respect? Doesn't it feel weird to leave the house purposefully dressed up only to make men want to sleep with them, to sacrifice personal comfort and class solely to appeal to the male gaze?

There are so many easy ways to mock and critique the gal who chooses the slutty Halloween costume.

But here's my dirty secret: deep down, I kind of wanted to be one of them. Just once.

My inability to be a rollicking, sex-positive reveler on Halloween came from a few places, some sewn from good intentions and others just from good old-fashioned inhibition and judgment.

The sweet end of it is that I was raised to place a low priority on what guys thought of me. Of course, it's pretty much impossible to be a young straight woman and care nothing about whether guys thought I was cute or if they wanted to slow dance with me at parties or whatever, but ultimately, I somehow listened when my parents drilled it into me that getting extra credit on my history homework and earning their pride came before having boys call me at home after school. It would have been nice to have both, but friends and personal ambition came first in my life, and I have always wondered whether I focused on other stuff because boys didn't pay attention to me, or whether guys somehow knew that I wasn't really a boy-chaser (or just wasn't that appealing) and thus stayed away. Either way, my parents did this on purpose. My mom actually said to me last week, when I asked her about this topic, "I might have implied that nerdy wasn't a bad thing. It meant you were your own person and not subject to the throes of striving to be popular." So, ever since then, the idea of doing something solely to get a guy hot for me has always felt unnatural. Sure, I've tried that guise on a few times, but ultimately, if I dress a certain way, it's either to please myself or even to earn compliments from other women.

The more depressing side of it was that I just never had the self-confidence to try something overtly sexy on for a night. It's like the way I feel instantly embarrassed each time I try on red lipstick, even if I'm just looking at myself in the mirror. In college I was friends with or lived with a bunch of flat-bellied, lanky-legged girls who could seamlessly transition from lingerie party to spring break in Cancun and their only concern was which bikini was cutest. Next to them I felt lumpy, curvy, flabby and self-conscious. It was a tough time for an awkward-feeling girl with breasts to be in college, by the way, the late '90's-early 00's. Tight, poly-blend shirts were all the rage and I used to get ready for the night with a pillow stuffed under my shirt in order to stretch it out so that my muffin top and underbra fat wouldn't be as pronounced. So to put on something that exposed my midriff or thighs would have felt more like a trick than a treat for me. Once, in college, I tried to go as a cute or sexy bat, but I wimped out and just wore a black t-shirt and black wings and a goofy headband and called it a day (I realized that "fat" rhymes with "bat" and was worried that somebody else would pick up on that too.) It probably says something about my personality that the sexiest I ever felt in a Halloween costume was the year I borrowed a doctor friend's lab coat, medical bag and stethoscope. I paired these with my glasses and a cute top. I actually got a few requests for "checkups" but didn't feel like I was putting myself out there too much. I felt like myself. It was safe.

Finally, I just have an identity crisis when it comes to Halloween. The girls in slutty costumes, they know who they are. They're confident, they're fun, they own their sexuality, they're not afraid of male attention. Then there are the girls in the creative, clever, conceptual costumes. As much as I think I should be one of those people (I'm creative! See: me writing this thing right here!), I'm not handy with makeup or a prop, not good at translating an idea or a joke into clothing. Then, I have the same problem with silly, nonsexy costumes as I have with regular sexy costumes: I am not confident enough to dress up like a clown or a baby or a Teletubbie or something nonsexual but funny. I still secretly want to look nice.

I have found two great solutions to my Halloween conundrums. The first is to have a child. Giving birth is definitely a sound idea if you have Halloween block the way I do, because suddenly the holiday is all about your child's cuteness and not your own outfit. It's trick-or-treating and early bedtime instead of a late-night bar party. There is absolutely no downside to this approach.

The other thing is that last year I finally found the thing I'm just going to wear every Halloween from now on. We put the baby in skeleton pajamas and then ourselves wore skeleton tees. After looking at pictures of myself from last year, I realized that this hits my Halloween sweet spot. It's comfortable, it doesn't completely drape my form, it was inexpensive, it's kind of amusing in a low-key, "I acknowledge your October the 31st day of fright and fun" way (especially when I wear it to work under a blazer), and I don't have to think about it too hard.

I'll never win at Halloween, but at least I don't have to totally stand by the sidelines, judging and bitching about everyone who is able to do it cuter and sexier and more fun than I do.

Plus, the shirt kind of makes me look thin.