It's always Halloween costume time at Solomon's house

IT'S HALLOWEEN time again, and celebrities, like the rest of America, are playing along.

Well, sort of . . .

In truth, America's celebrities celebrate Halloween all year round. How else to explain actress Renee Zellweger emerging at Elle's Annual Women in Hollywood Celebration recently looking like some other chick? I mean, maybe she had plastic surgery, maybe she's just living a healthy lifestyle. But do you have to wear a Halloween mask to live healthy? I think not.

Same with Kim Kardashian, the reality-show regular who picks up her kid from day care in a tuxedo jacket open to the navel. Surely that had to be an early Halloween celebration, because no one shows her private parts when walking into a room filled with small children.

And for those of you who want to say that I'm slut-shaming, I'm a dad. I wield shame like an emotional ax, cutting off misbehavior at every turn.

Here's how it works:

Little Solomon brings home a second consecutive C (yes, consecutive C's are worthy of discipline in my house). LaVeta informs me when I come home from work. I look at the test in pseudo-shock while deciding which form of discipline should apply. Knowing that this is a serious infraction, I reach for my biggest shame-inducing weapon: the look.

This is the parental equivalent of emotional Kryptonite. It's more painful than a swat on the bottom. It's longer lasting than grounding. It's more effective than snatching privileges. It is, in essence, my equivalent of a celebrity Halloween costume.

Slowly lifting my eyes from the test paper, I gaze at the boy with a facial expression that says, "After all I've done to make you into a better test-taker - from feeding you daily, to helping you with writing assignments, to taking you to Disney World - this is what you do to me? This is my reward?"

I can take this look on and off like a celebrity Halloween mask, button it up or button it down like Kim Kardashian's tuxedo jacket. But every time I put it on and look at the boy, he knows he's screwed up royally and he does what it takes to win back my approval.

I use another type of celebrity Halloween mask for LaVeta, because she's a tougher case. She knows me too well, after 14 years of marriage, so getting her attention is a challenge.

I have to do something truly crazy, like Wiz Khalifa dying his hair purple. Or something utterly ridiculous, like Snoop Dogg wearing a kilt. This is how she knows I need her to step in and get me back on the right path. This is how she knows I need her help.

Here's how it works:

LaVeta spends a week ignoring me for an infraction so small we've both forgotten what she's actually mad about. She knows she's supposed to be angry, though, so she has to keep giving me the silent treatment. Otherwise I'd think she was soft on husbands, and that would be a blow to wives everywhere.

The situation is dire, so I know I have to go way over the top to get her attention. Therefore, I do what I must. I go to my handy-dandy Halloween store, find myself a Wiz Khalifa wig, a Snoop Dogg kilt and one of those Dudley Do-Right Mountie hats that Pharrell Williams has caused us all to hate.

After work, I change into this celebrity Halloween trifecta and walk in the front door.

Duly horrified, LaVeta is forced to break her silence. "You didn't, um . . . go anywhere dressed like that, did you?"

At that point I break into my version of Pharrell's "Happy," dancing my way upstairs in a fit of utter silliness.

LaVeta is forced to follow, just to make sure she's witnessing all this correctly before having me committed.

That's when I jump out in my other Halloween costume - the one only LaVeta gets to see.