Like I told my oldest, “If you’re old enough to sue someone
in small claims court for not giving you enough candy, you’re too old to trick
or treat.”
“But Mom, fun size isn’t fun for everybody.”
“Once you have to shave, people don’t want you coming up on
their porch at night with a bag. They
won’t give you candy. They’ll give you
the business end of a scarecrow.”
“Okay, we’ll find something else to do. Say, do we have any toilet paper?”
It was either find them something to do or watch my grocery
budget hanging from the Wilson
The first year we went on a ghost walk. For a fee, you can wander around downtown
with an extraearthly escort who points out all the places the “in” ghost crowd
hangs out. We all had a great time, especially
the kids who made bets among themselves as to who could scare me enough to wet
my underpants in public. They considered
the evening a success. I considered the
evening on par with receiving an atomic wedgie and running a soaker hose up my
pants leg.
The next year we took them to a nearby touristy spot for a downtown
block party. The highlight was a trip to
the General Store where they each got to fill a bucket with candy which we paid
for by the pound. You can’t go by price,
but I think Son One filled his bucket with diamonds and Son Two scooped up a
bargain on petroleum futures. We lived
on Vienna
This year I have a great idea. I’m going to suggest a Halloween house party and show the kids my costume in advance. As a 50 year old woman raised on biscuits and gravy, the most frightening outfit I could wear is a halter top and hip huggers.
The scariest part is coming up with a plan for next year
that will top this one. I’m thinking bicycle pants.
