As I’m very mentally infantile, at being forced at gunpoint to let Summer ’11 out of my grasp,
Having a Step-son who happens to be born on Halloween, has always been a big help in getting the brain reprogrammed from pools 
& bbq’s,
enthusiastically sprinkled with the essence of
The Captain.
Yum. Uhm, I’ll be right back….
Ok. All better. Now I can concentrate on what I’m getting at, here. Since Halloween in our house, and our deranged minds was just the neighborhood’s way of coming out and saying:
“Happy Birthday, Dougie!,”
We had a witch’s cauldron,
that we stowed all of the Treats for the Trickers, who came to call. We’d dress up in costumes, even though we were the resident adults.
If we got droopy, tired-looking children
at the door,
who had the enthusiasm of road kill, we just didn't understand it. We’d put them through their paces, before doling out any loot to them.
They’d roll their eyes in utter disgust, when we’d throw them a pop quiz.
“Sooo. Happy Halloween. (Insert blank stare from children, here..)
And what are you supposed to be??”
“I’m a pirate,” one boy muttered through his teeth to me, as if he was sure I was a big moron who couldn't figure his get-up out.
He answered me like he was speaking to the dentist that was about to hurt him, badly. I stood staring back at him, with my jaw agape.
“Sooo. Happy Halloween. (Insert blank stare from children, here..)
And what are you supposed to be??”
“I’m a pirate,” one boy muttered through his teeth to me, as if he was sure I was a big moron who couldn't figure his get-up out.
He answered me like he was speaking to the dentist that was about to hurt him, badly. I stood staring back at him, with my jaw agape.
“A pirate? A pirate? Are you kidding me?
You sure look like a pirate,
Where’s the, “Arh, Matey, I be Trick O’ Treatin’ and I’m not leaving without all of the loot on your ship!!”???
“Hey Lady, I have a headache.
Can I have some candy or not?”
As I felt a little bad for harassing the kid, after he dressed up on a school night and was feeling crappy and all, I gently tried to help him along by telling him I’d give him FIVE!! goody bags, if he’d just say, “Ahr, Shiver me timbers, wench!”
Captain Jack Sparrow turned me down cold,
took his one bag & slogged back across our
Great Lawn,
& disappeared into the night.
and no ‘Umph’…it just kills me.
As each September whipped past our eyes,
we’d start preparing and setting the house for Halloween night and for the birthday party that was on its tail, usually that weekend.
I’d be knee-deep, prepping homemade trays of eggplant parm
& four other off-shoots of some animal, vegetable or mineral, parmed to death…in huge aluminum trays. By the time I put the wraps on cooking,
cleaning, decorating
& thinking up my new means of torturing neighborhood children with quizzes and lessons on holiday enthusiasm, I was out of steam, out of cash & I was done.
After reviewing our inane Halloween spending spree, I felt a tight pinch when I went to purchase the actual give-away’s for Halloween night.
I heard myself gasping out loud and shaming the great Atlantic & Pacific Tea Company,
for the unreasonable price of a decent amount of candy to dole out. Knowing the girth of our witch’s cauldron by the front door, I quickly realized that I’d have to shell out ANOTHER fifty bucks, just to be fully stocked. No way.
I was drawing the line.
I’d buy what I thought was appropriate and that, would be that.
When I arrived home, I left my candy purchases by the door, as I put away my precious perishables.
When I finished, I ripped open the candy bags and unceremoniously dumped them into the witch’s belly. This was daylight and I had to get a flashlight AND a magnifying glass, to be able to see the candy in this black barrel.
I was stunned to see that it barely filled the entire bottom of the cauldron. Tough darts. I did my best, I was broke and this was it.
When Doug arrived home, an hour after me, he poured through the door, all pumped up for the evening’s frivolity.
As we ate dinner, he talked wildly about the excitement of the night and Dougie's birthday, along with the unseasonable temperature for October 31….It was warm out!
Something about a muggy night in New York, does not go hand in hand with the proper spirit of the season. Jus’ sayin….
Something about a muggy night in New York, does not go hand in hand with the proper spirit of the season. Jus’ sayin….
Or, does it???After we finished eating, he went over to investigate the offerings of the witch.
“Whaaaatttttttthhhhhelllll!!!!!”
he roared through the house.
“What’s wrong?” I volley’d back to the hallway, thinking that our house had just been hit with eggs or something.
“What happened to ALL of the candy
you bought?
Did YOU eat it, Susan?”
“Of course not! What do you mean?
It’s in there!”
(Oh God, did I leave empty M&M's bags lying around???)“Susan, I can physically COUNT
how many pieces are in there…
Where’s the rest?” he indignantly inquired.
“You’re insane," I informed him.
Stick a fork in us...
we’re done,” I replied in a very matter-of-fact, tone of voice.
“And what happens when all
the little children in the neighborhood
the little children in the neighborhood
ring our doorbell tonight
His face was all contorted, as he waited for my reply.
“I’m sorry, Doug…I did the best I could...
...Would you like me to write them
personal checks,
as they’re explaining their get-ups to us??
Would that do it for ya?
...Really nail the spirit of the season????”
& removed his car keys. “That won’t be necessary,” he sniffed at me,
as he drove away in a big huff.
I thought he went for a quick ride,
to blow off a little steam,
at me,
at the situation
and at the lack of unlimited party funds.
and at the lack of unlimited party funds.
This really threw me for a loop, as I emphatically informed him that I was not about to deep fry hundreds of Buffalo wings for our neighbor’s children’s snack needs.
He gave me a snotty look, as he dumped the contents of the chicken-wing box into the witch. Her belly was now overflowing with every kind of candy imaginable.
Apparently,
Willie Wonka
Willie Wonka
spent all that time in line at
B.J.’s Wholesale Club,
beating up old ladies
to get the last available
to get the last available
10-pound bags of candy
that he could lay his hands on.
As he attempted to tidy up the offerings by the door, he continued mocking me and my chocolate-buying-decision-making abilities.
“Like, ten pieces of freaking candy for the whole neighborhood….
Jesus, Susan…where’s your head??
Woo Hoo, kids! Come to our house!!!”
Woo Hoo, kids! Come to our house!!!”
I thought his sarcasm level was a bit pissy, as well as a tad bit over-blown, but I remained unwilling to participate in his Susi bitch-fest.
I was mad, but I just made note of his snarky little comments
& went about my night.
I was mad, but I just made note of his snarky little comments
& went about my night.
LaGuardia’s take-off ramp,
NOW I get it, why these children sound so uninterested in explaining themselves & participating in our Halloween games! I get it.
The houses to the direct left and direct right of us are so much closer to the road, that
FedEx
&
UPS
can ring their front doorbell from the truck and hand them their package.
That’s where Trick O’ Treaters like to go.
Our house, sandwiched in-between,
feels like the house is located in
Amityville
& no one wants to touch it,
with a ten foot pole.
So. The wrap up to this story?
After losing his mind at his wife,
driving to B.J.’s on Halloween night...the very night his youngest boy came into this world..
my husband is standing in line in a warehouse,
to spend fifty-six f’ing bucks on chocolate &
Wait For It....Wait For It....
TWO CHILDREN
RANG OUR BELL,
that hot, humid,
that hot, humid,
Halloween night.
He wouldn’t speak to me for a week.
Win…ning.
Happy Autumn Dreams, to you and yours...
~SusiTheJ~
