Last night I walked into the living room with a bowl of Halloween candy for Joe to distribute to our trick-or-treaters.
(Note: I will not be home tonight for Halloween. I’m “celebrity” judging a costume contest at a burlesque show in Sarasota, so Joe has been tasked with handing out our loot. )
I take tremendous pride in my Halloween candy assortment. Every year I fill a giant bowl with Reese’s, Twix, Hersheys, lollipops and if I’m feeling generous, Kit Kats. And every year, two or three shy kids show up in the company of nervous parents who advise them to only take ONE measly candy.
“One candy!” I cry. “NONSENSE! Take five candies! Hell, take 10. You’re the only little goblins I get all night. DIG IN.”
I’m bummed I won’t be here tonight to push candy.
(Note: If you’re in Sarasota and you’re planning to attend tonight’s contest, please know I’ve got eccentric taste in costumes. Ladies: I don’t have much love for those of you who dress as floozies for Halloween. Just so you know who you’re dealing with, my last three Halloween costumes were a Wheel of Fortune game piece, a Chinese takeout box and this year, a fugly mom – fupa and all. Timely, no?)
Anyway. Back to the candy bowl.
“This is an important job,” I said. “Make sure you answer every knock.”
“We get like three kids every year,” he grumbled.
“I know. Which is why it’s important you answer every knock. And don’t let them pick their own candy. They’re too polite. Parents train them to take only one piece. Tell them we never get trick-or-treaters and then give ’em a giant handful.”
Joe rolled his eyes.
“I’ve been to Halloween before,” he said, plucking a Hershey bar from the bowl. “I went as Mork from Ork before you were even born.”
And just like that, my husband became an old man.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN LANCE-ALOTS!
If I were staying home tonight to hand out candy, I’d go as myself: a scary, bitchy, terribly sleep-deprived mom.