It’s my turn. Yeah, mine. And because I’m a glutton for punishment, I agreed when Faith asked me if I’d like to resurrect this blog. I know I have a few more days. Well, not really. You see, Wednesday, I drive up to my mother’s and come home Thursday. On top of this seven-hour marathon of driving in less than two days with a six year old in tow, I have quarterly reports to finish by the 31st. AND we have our annual Blocktoberfest this Saturday, not mention to Halloween. (I live in insanity central, if any of you are wondering. Grin)
And it’s that time of year again. Candy, candy everywhere. The problem is that I still have to clean my cupboards out from (peering into the cupboard)—gasp—Christmas? There’s candy in there from Christmas? Good God Almighty! That can’t be good. (Scooping out the candy.) And here’s some Easter candy. Hm… do you think that’s still good? Me neither. So, now that the cupboards are finally clean of old candy, I get to stock up on more candy that will soon become old candy, rotting in my cupboards yet again. No, it doesn’t get eaten. My daughter is too picky of an eater for me to let her have more than a few pieces. Besides which, a piece a candy turns my sweet, precious child into Demon Seed. And me? Well, that’s another story. (Can’t turn into something you are already on your way to becoming, right? Just kidding… Right?)
I have nothing against candy. I like candy. And that’s the problem. So I try to make sure I buy candy that I don’t really like. You know, like Almond Joy, jelly beans, Peeps, candy corn, and I bury the candy in the cupboards where it’s such a pain in the ass to pull out that I won’t eat it…unless I’m really, really having a sugar craving. But, in the midst of a homicidal sugar craving, nothing is safe.
But this time I am screwed. You see, one of Charlie’s friends (Charlie’s my husband) kindly sent us an entire box of Wonka chocolate bars for Halloween. An entire box. We are halfway through it. A week or so ago, in one of my PMS moments, I snagged a bar and brought it into the living room where I could eat the entire thing in peace, except I didn’t. Instead, thinking Charlie would say “no,” I stupidly asked if he wanted half. And because he still hasn’t learned that getting between a PMSing woman and her chocolate is about as advisable as getting between a shark and its chum, he said, “Yes.” Lucky for him, I love him and refrained from chewing his arm off…this time. Next time, I’m not promising anything.
Despite the candy, I love this time of year. I love Halloween. (Another excuse to wear a costume. Okay, nowadays, the only excuse I’ve got to wear a costume.) This year, I wanted a new Halloween costume (it’s been a good ten or more years since I’ve gotten one), but leave it to me to check out the parking lot sale on a rainy day. And I happened to pick a place that sold old costumes from TV and film sets. Being a normal size woman, I couldn’t even pull them up past my thighs or over my shoulders. (sigh) So, I’m going to be a witch. Not a sexy witch and not even that much of a stretch, I know, but I already have a black faux velvet dress, a black wig, which I may or may not wear, black boots, and a borrowed witch’s hat. I’ll be a scary witch or a not so scary one, depending on whether I decide to wear make up and how much sleep I’ve had.
So, what do you love about this time of year? And what are you going to be for Halloween? Have you decided? If you come to our block party, I highly recommend that you wear a costume. If you don’t, it’s into the dunk tank for you. Now, that I think about, scratch the costume. Come as you are. (Evil cackle)