Thus, my seminal post.
Why is it that adult females, and by adult I mean middle aged (mostly, though the perps fall across several decades), feel that Halloween events are a suitable venue for displaying acres of boobage and miles of thigh that are tastefully covered the other 364 days of the year? When I made this observation, I was at a dance. Thus, the acres in question were on the move - and, in a couple of cases, very tenuously contained.
This might be construed as sour grapes from someone who came dressed as a cowgirl (and joined rest of the herd of cowgirls, so aptly described by one of the cg's as the "what the hell am I going to be that I can get out of my closet?" school of costume design). Friday, officially Halloween, I plan to switch from cowgirl (perky) to Sarah Palin (scary, yet still perky). My date has steadfastly refused to be a caribou.