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I am a huge fan of all things spooky. Drop me off in a creepy forest with chain saw-wielding maniacs, zombies and witches, and I'll have a blast.

That's why I was excited when I got invited to get dressed up for some haunted house-hopping fun this Halloween.

That excitement faded when I went costume shopping. Why is it that the only costume options for adult females are sexy and skimpy?

I tried on a Little Bo Peep costume that seemed fine until I realized that the unforgiving fabric left little to the imagination. I imagined how ridiculous I'd look running away from someone dressed as Freddy Krueger in this outfit.

I immediately checked the packaging thinking the costume must have really been called "Little Bo Peep show."

Though completely unoriginal, I grabbed a witch costume and traveled back to my fitting room.

After I got the costume on, I checked in the mirror. Everything was covered. I was wishing I could get a second opinion, though.

I moved around to get another view. The mirror's opinion was all I needed. Fortunately, mirrors always tell the truth and this one was screaming that the witch wear was way too tight -- next!

Soon I was back in my changing station with a few more options. I slipped into a goddess gown that would have worked if I were willing to pay $50, plus $30 for the gold, strappy sandals that went with it.

Too outrageous a price for something I'd only wear once.

I was getting irritated, and so was the sales girl who kept asking me how I was doing.

At this point, she was launching costume ideas at me. I knew she was trying to be helpful, but I almost lost it when I saw a nurse's uniform that looked like it would fit my 8-year-old niece coming my way.

Naughty nurse was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

I threw on my own clothes as quickly as possible, took one last glimpse in the mirror at my disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes.

I didn't bring a brush, so there wasn't much I could do with my hair.

I combed through my locks with my fingers and shook my head, but it only got worse.

My new, big hair inspired the perfect costume. I could dress up as the British singing train wreck Amy Winehouse.

I'd wear some of my own clothes, save a considerable amount of dough, purchase a large beehive wig, overdo it on the makeup and fake tattoos, and I'd look just like the rehab-shunning celebrity in no time.

With my Winehouse jail mugshot look, I might even give some of those haunted house creatures a scare.

Contact Adria Hairston at 883-4422, Ext. 244, or adria.hairston@news-record.com