Halloween at my house is always a chaotic affair. Because my neighborhood is flat, self-contained, and has a good number of houses jammed together, we get a lot of trick-or-treaters. Some of them actually live in the neighborhood.
Most, however, are driven in by these soccor moms who drive slowly down the street, alongside their kid as he or she rushes up to the door to exact upon adults the only revenge that kids can.
Now that's just plain lazy. So it's a little chilly. Put on a coat and walk with your kid. I doubt the expended calories would put you behind for the day.
But I digress. At the stroke of 6 p.m., I saw a line of cars stream into the neighborhood. It looked oddly like a funeral procession. At about 6:15, the madness started.
I was ready. I had my 9 bags of candy, large mixing bowl, scissors for fast opening, trashcan so I don't slip on a discarded bag and kill myself in my hurry to provide kids with more cavity-causing material.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong...
Two hours later, it stopped almost as quickly as it started. After checking for any strays on the front walk, I flicked off the lights and settled in to survey the spoils I had picked around for myself.
Plenty of Reese's, that's good...some Butterfingers...
As I looked at my hands poking through the few remaining pieces of candy, I noticed something was amiss.
Wasn't I wearing...Nah. Wait...I was wearing one because of the cut on my thumb...
My bandaid was gone.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment