What Do Moms in Their 40s Want to Be for Halloween?

Ask a kid what they want to be for Halloween and you’ll hear witch, vampire, superhero or Taylor Swift.

Ask a woman in her 40s, and the answers get VERY different. We’re not looking to dress up as something sexy. We want to BECOME something completely unrealistic for one magical night. 

Divorced. Unbothered. Someone’s bad decision. The younger woman. A trophy wife. Maybe just a person nobody needs anything from for six consecutive hours.

RELATED: 🎃 10 Reasons Halloween Is Way Better Than Having a Girlfriend

So forget the costume aisle. Here’s what women in their 40s really want to be for Halloween…

Divorced!
Because apparently my Halloween fantasy is someone else having the kids this weekend.

A MILF
I’ve already done the “Mom” part. I’d just like confirmation the rest of the acronym still applies.

The Hot Ex-Wife
Not bitter. Not angry. Just moisturized, thriving and looking suspiciously better than I did during the marriage.

A woman who doesn’t fake anything anymore… especially enthusiasm.
“No, that sounds terrible and I don’t want to go.” Look at me growing!

Desired…
But from a respectful distance. Please don’t start texting me “good morning” every day.

Someone who knows all her passwords!
Instead of spending half my life clicking “Forgot Password” and then being told my new password can’t be my old password.

A person who can drink two glasses of wine and not lose all of Sunday.
I remember when two glasses of wine meant a fun night, not a 36-hour medical event.

A woman who can cough on a trampoline without fear.
If you know, you know. And if you don’t know, enjoy your pelvic floor while it lasts.

The favourite parent without doing any of the work.
Imagine doing 20% of the parenting and somehow getting 90% of the approval ratings.

A woman whose metabolism still has a pulse.
I used to eat pizza at midnight. Now I look at a dinner roll and my jeans file a complaint.

Someone who sleeps through the night without getting up to pee.
Forget sexy costumes. Eight uninterrupted hours is my adult fantasy.

A woman whose boobs don’t randomly ache.
Nothing says your 40s like spending three days wondering, “Is this hormones, my bra, or am I dying?”