“So are you dressing up for Halloween?”

Immediately, I started sneering and rolling my eyes.

“Of course not,” I said. “You know how I feel about wearing costumes. It’s not my thing.”

I put up a good front, but it’s actually pretty easy to get me to wear a costume. Basically, all you have to do is ask. And if asking doesn’t work, you just have to tell me that I’m wearing one, and ignore all my protests.

Take my junior year of college. I was in a foul mood. When my friend Hanna stopped by and asked what I was wearing for Halloween, I told her that I was in a funk, and had no intention of going out. “That’s silly,” Hanna said. “Yeah, well, I don’t have anything to wear,” I said.

“Hmmm,” Hanna said, gazing around my room for inspiration. “I know. I’ll dress you up as a newspaper.” I tried to resist. “I don’t want to dress up as a newspaper,” I said. But it didn’t matter. Within an hour, torn newspaper pages were affixed to my body with tape, I was clad in black and white clothing, and there were print-like streaks all over my face and hands. “OK, OK,” I said. “Where’s the party?”

A few years ago, I traveled to Denver to see my friends Dave and Melissa over Halloween weekend. “Oh, by the way, we’ve been invited to a party,” Melissa informed me, a few days before my flight. “But I don’t have a costume,” I said, suppressing the urge to groan. “Don’t worry,” Melissa said. “Just bring your bowling shirt. We’ll figure something out.”

My mood brightened considerably at the mention of my bowling shirt. Dave, Melissa and I were on a bowling team in college — Shaken, Not Stirred, we called ourselves — and we have matching aqua blue shirts with our names stitched above the front pockets, and a large picture of a martini glass on the back. I brought the shirt to Denver, and Dave and Melissa and I went to the party as punk bowlers, with our hair slicked back and spiked in funny patterns, and bicycle chains around our necks.

The punk bowler get-up wasn’t the sort of thing I’d ever imagined myself wearing, but of course I never thought I’d join a bowling team, either. It was Melissa’s idea. She said, “Hey, let’s form a bowling team,” and I couldn’t think of any reason not to do it, other than the fact that I’m a terrible bowler, and that I’d be demonstrating what a terrible bowler I am in front of a whole bunch of people. But whatever. I didn’t have anything to do on Sunday nights, other than watch “The X-Files” and study. “OK, sign me up,” I said.

My life is full of such moments. There’s something I’m dead set against doing, and then someone asks me to do it, and instead of saying “No,” I say, “OK, I’ll do it.” Usually these things involve dressing up in costumes, or speaking in front of an audience, or dancing or performing.

The latest example is the improv comedy show, Theatresports, this Sunday at Proctors. For some reason that now escapes me, I agreed to be a judge at this event, which is hosted by the Mop & Bucket Company, the Capital Region’s improv comedy group, and claims to “combine the heart-stopping competition of a sporting event with the spontaneous creativity found in improvisation.” I first saw Mop & Bucket perform last December, and blogged about it, and when Michael Burns, the group’s artistic director, surfaced a couple months ago to say that he’d read the post and wanted to know if I would judge, my first instinct was to ignore his inquiry and hide under my desk.

Improv comedy has never been my thing. Until that fateful Mop & Bucket show, my main improv comedy memory was the time I was hanging out in a coffee shop in college with my friend Ed, having a perfectly nice conversation, and the college improv comedy group jumped up and announced that they were going to perform. Ed and I looked at each other. “Let’s get out of here,” Ed said. And so we fled.

But I ended up having a pretty good time at the Mop & Bucket show (which I never would have gone to if my friend Bruce hadn’t asked me to go), and when Michael Burns assured me that I wouldn’t “have to speak, act, or in any other way cavort publicly,” I said, OK, I’d be happy to judge. Being in front of an audience is only my phobia, but why let that stop me?

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that other people just say no when asked to do something they don’t want to do. But I’m not sure I’d be better off if I had that ability. The way I look at it, doing things that are totally out of character, that take me out of my comfort zone, create the potential for something interesting to occur. You never know. I might end up being a part of something special, and having a very good time.

Take Dave and Melissa’s wedding. I’ve never considered myself maid-of-honor material, but I was happy to fill that role, even if it meant wearing a fancy silver dress, standing in front of a group, and giving a toast at the rehearsal dinner. Oh, and starting the dancing. Because when the band started playing, and Melissa wailed, “Why isn’t anybody dancing?” I turned to Ed, and said, “I guess we’d better get out there.” It’s the only time in my life I’ve ever been the first person out on the dance floor, but being maid of honor comes with certain responsibilities, and I didn’t want to fall down on the job.

I stepped things up a notch for my friend Heather, who asked me to officiate at her wedding. I coordinated the entire ceremony, and wrote a message to read during the service. The experience practically gave me a heart attack, and at one point I came pretty close to killing the groom. But everyone survived, and it’s now one of those special memories that we’ll never forget.

So, yes, I’ll agree to do just about anything.

Even weddings, newspaper costumes, bowling teams and improv comedy.

But, the thing is, I seldom regret it.

Oh, by the way, Theatresports performances started Friday, and run through Nov. 8. Check proctors.org for times.

Foss Forward makes a weekly appearance in print, in The Gazette’s Saturday Lifestyles section. You can email Sara at sfoss@dailygazette.net.