Frankenstein's Monster and the Bride of Frankenstein sit in their car waiting to go into Dracula's Halloween party. The Monster turns off the car, but doesn't get out. The Bride notices.
"What's wrong?"
"You know what's wrong," The Monster says, staring at the steering wheel.
She sighs. She has seen this out of him before.
"Is this going to be a problem every year?"
The Monster shakes his head, his black crew cut hair barely moving.
"I don't want it to be, but they just make fun of me every year." he says. "I hate going to these parties."
"Then why'd I even get dressed up?" she asks. "I spent three hours on this hair, you know."
The Monster reaches over to grab her hand.
"I know, and I love taking you out. I really do," he says.
"But?" she asks, pulling her hand away.
"I hate how they make me feel," he says. "They laugh at my flat head and my shoes. Don't they know they're correcting my flat arches?"