Phyllis plopped her handbag down on her desk and glanced at the clock. Eight-forty. She was ten minutes late. Again.

When she looked up, her boss stood in the doorway wearing a witch’s costume. She couldn’t help but laugh as she sank down into her chair.

“You’re not in costume.”

“I know,” Phyllis said. Of course she knew. When did she have time for this nonsense? She had a full-time job, a husband and two pre-school children. She had had to get them costumes, including her husband. “I came as a health-care executive. Notice the detail–the five-year pin on the lapel of my gray power suit. Two inch heels–no more, no less. Hair at chin length, make-up perfect.” She decided not to mention the concealer for the dark circles under her eyes. “You know your slip is showing?”

“It’s supposed to,” Matt said. He sat down in the chair next to her desk and pulled up the skirt a bit more to show the checkered slip. “What do you think?”

She studied the fake nose with obligatory wart, the black dress with black and white striped hose covering nice muscular legs. Black granny shoes and black hat over gray wig completed his costume. “Good. Very appropriate.”

“You calling me a witch?” he asked, cocking his black eyebrows at her.