Alas, another Halloween gone by.
Excuse the premature nostalgia, but Halloween is my favorite holiday of the year. Absolute favorite. It even beats out Christmas, because at least with Halloween I don’t have to pretend for a whole month that I’m going to send out holiday cards when I know damn well – again! every year! – I’ll never get my shit together enough to actually buy and sign and address and mail a bunch of fucking cards and so consequently every card I get is like another brick being laid in the foundation of the new wing of my guilt complex…
Here are a few more
REASONS WHY HALLOWEEN IS AWESOME!!!
1) It’s the only day of the year we celebrate what I consider my primary skill: “pretending” to be evil. (I don’t know. Maybe you don’t use quotes.)
2) Enough chocolate to gag a Snuffleupagus. Though come to think of it, it’s possible Snuffleupagi are like dogs, and even a tiny amount of chocolate kills them. Which, you gotta admit, would be pretty Halloweeny in and of itself: dead Snuffleupagi strewn up and down suburban sidewalks in costumes, crying out for their moms or Big Bird with their last Snuffleupagian breaths…
3) I can wear comfy pants and a tank top – standard slovenly writerwear – and get credit for a “yoga instructor” costume. (Though I do have to strap on a bra instead of tucking my boobs into my pants like normal, so that part kind of sucks.)
4) Scared two year-olds being shoved in front of strangers and forced to parrot something they don’t understand, like “Happy Hawowee,” with no idea why, all while wearing uncomfortable fake identities. It prepares them for Life.
5) Getting to give away candy like I’m the Donald Trump of candy. Except I actually give it away.
The Finance and I had 103 kids come to our door last night.
“103?” you’re thinking. “C’mon, how could she possibly know it was exactly 103?”
And I’ll tell y’all.
Because I write this shit down.
Seriously. I am not kidding. This is my favorite holiday.
I make The Finance help me, too, though at this point I think he’s just found it easier to float along the River of Crazy rather than fight against the current.
I even try to keep a scribbled list of all the costumes the kids wear – y’know, to see if we can spot trends and test our pop culture knowledge (The Finance’s is zero, by the way – he called a kid in a Transformers costume a “robot” last night and I was all, “Uh, hello? Optimus Prime?” and then felt super-self-satisfied for, like, hours) though when the Front Porch Superhighway gets clogged like a fat man’s arteries, I have been forced to just scrawl something like “MF’ing load of MF’ing princesses.”
But the numbers? Oh, I get the numbers right.
Because there is nothing worse than buying too little candy.
Nothing worse than having a five year-old girl come to your house dressed in Army fatigues and combat boots and having to tell her, “Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m unable to support your strong and daring anti-Whore-a-ween feminist protest because I was too fucking stoned or lazy to pick up that extra bag of mini-KitKats.” Oh hell no.
So I count how many kids we have each year, and make sure I get enough candy to cover 150% of them.
Things What I Learned*:
How To Get Candy
At The Evil Gal/Finance Household
1) DO… be under 30. No shit. If you show up at my door in plain old jeans and a hoodie sporting more tattoos than I have? You can just fuck right the hell off my porch, dude. Wait a day, then buy your own goddamned Halloween candy at CVS for 75% off. This house is not a candy-welfare state. I paid good money for those Mr. Goodbars, and if you think I’m just going to share them with you for noth–
Oh my god, I totally went Republican there for a second. It was like my soul flashed before my eyes.
Here, take some of my candy. I have plenty.
2) DON’T… pretend you’re trick or treating for more than one person. Last night I opened the door to find a girl – pfft, “girl” – this chick was 17 if she was a day – holding SIX DIFFERENT BAGS on her arms. And I’m not talking Halloween bags, or plastic jack o’lanterns. I’m talking three tote bags, a kid’s backpack, a paper sack, and a plastic grocery bag.
She said she was trick or treating for “the ones in strollers.” Now, I don’t know if that’s some sort of charity I’m unaware of – The Ones In Strollers – but I didn’t see any strollers in the vicinity – nor do I think that if kids are still riding in strollers, they should be trying to choke down anything as small as Gobstoppers – but of course I gave her candy for each of the bags anyway. Mostly because if she was hungry enough to eat six bags’ worth of candy, she might’ve been hungry enough to eat me. I’ve seen “The Walking Dead.” I’m not taking any chances.
3) DO… be under two years old and dressed in a Yo Gabba Gabba costume with a funny headpiece that keeps falling down over your eyes. You will get a lot of candy from me. Like, a lot. I will literally give you all the candy we have. In fact, I will go down the block and beat up some other kids and give you their candy. I’m not joking. I’ll do it. You want me to?
4) DON’T… come back twice. You really think I’m that stupid? Yet sure enough, this swaggering 12 year-old boy dressed in a golf shirt – I’m not sure if he was pretending to be a golfer, or if he just happened to wear a golf shirt to school that day and was like, “Fuck it, I’m a golfer. Let’s go trick or treat this bitch.” – came back about 30 minutes after his first visit, bold as brass. He just stuck that bag out and hollered, “Trick or treat!” And because I really am that stupid, I grinned and hollered “Happy Halloween!” before it even registered that this was the same Golf Shirt who’d swaggered up earlier.
By that time he’d already grabbed some candy and thrown it in his bag – and he knows damn well I’m not gonna reach in there and take the candy back, right? With all the neighbors watching? I’ll suddenly become that crazy mean lady whose house mysteriously burns down on Christmas Eve. Because of arson.
Evil fucking kid.
I may go as him next Halloween.
Just need a golf shirt.
* A tip of the blog to @louisebrealey