It’s hard to be angry in a Halloween costume, but I managed it

Because it’s Monday, the day after Halloween and I’m recovering from more dental surgery . . .

I’m sharing with you possibly the most hilarious, embarrassing photo of myself. Ever.

In 1994, I was a sassy 9-year-old who had grown weary of being photographed. I went through what I’d consider to be a years-long pout — basically, I was cranky, grumpy and didn’t like being told what to do.

(Well, I’m still not big on the whole “taking orders” thing. But, you know.)

I don’t remember the decision-making process that brought me to this moment: a reluctant fourth-grader being coerced into smiling for her mom, who was joyfully snapping pictures of her girls in our backyard. I’ve seen that annoyed glint in my eye on many occasions, and still spot it in snapshots here and there.

And I don’t remember choosing to be a sock-hop girl. Halloween costumes around my house were always very cute and creative. Growing up with a younger sister, many of our outfits actually matched — a fact that caused me grief. I do remember that I was alone as an angry poodle-skirt-wearing girl this year; Katie opted for another look entirely. But in other years, we were both beauty pageant winners and witches. And one year, Katie was Beauty from “Beauty And The Beast.” (And she carried a Beast doll, which was adorable.) I was a fairy godmother. (But probably not hers.)

This Halloween, we were home loading up on “Hocus Pocus,” “The Nightmare Before Christmas” and “Ernest Scared Stupid.” After carving our pumpkins, Spencer helped us round up the pumpkin seeds and toast them in the oven. Drenched in salt and crunchy, they were a fantastic seasonal treat.

But no costumes for me. And no angry poodle-skirt scowl, either.

How was everyone’s holiday? Any tales of tricks or treats?