5:15 pm: I hang cute ghost earrings from my ears, turn on the porch light and fling open the door. Let the fun commence.
5:20 pm: I live halfway up a hill, three quarters the way to the cul de sac. My house is the only one on the hill with the international “we have candy” symbols of open doors and burning porch lights. I almost feel like going to the mouth of the street with a sign that says Not Worth Your Time.
5:35 pm: I start calling my dog “Case-per the friendly ghost” in an effort to have some Halloween cheer.
5:40 pm: I decide that my dog may be the only trick or treater I see all year. I give him a miniature peanut butter cup from the treat basket. Hey. Don’t judge. He’s a really big dog, and there’s hardly any chocolate on the thing.
5:41 pm: Dog begins vigil by the table holding the treat basket. I begin folding laundry. At least SOME good will come of this waiting.
5:45 pm: Laundry is folded. (I love dark loads. Few socks, lots of pairs of blue jeans.) Dog still holding PBC vigil in earnest.
5:46 pm: My street is as dark as Kleinheider’s heart. Seriously, in about six weeks that guy’s gonna strap antlers to his little dog’s head and go after all our presents.
5:47 pm: This is the boringest live blog ever. Dog still holding vigil. And I ate one of the 100 grand bars. That’s 90 calories I won’t get back.
6:02 pm: I look like a tool reading immigration blogs while wearing a Winnie The Pooh T-shirt and ghost earrings. I think the dog is going to come downstairs and eat me if I don’t give him another miniature peanut butter cup.
6:07 pm: THREE TRICK OR TREATERS! Healthy young lads dressed as skeletons. Or something. I didn’t get a good look at them because the dogs took it as their solemn duty to guard me from the dangers of short people with plastic sacks. I gave each brave lad two candy bars as a reward for having climbed the Hill Of No Hope and being barked at by Two Angry Yet Useless dogs.
6:11 pm: I’m about to give up. Where are the flocks of human young that I remember from my childhood Halloweens? Don’t people get how social this evening is? How much of a custom we’re losing to fear? They say the terrorists did it, but I think part of it we’ve done to ourselves. We’ve scared our kids with urban legends about razor blades and brown acid hidden among innocuous gifts of candy. So now instead of the hail-fellow-well-met of Halloweens past we’ve got this Trunk Or Treat nonsense.
I think I’m a little too morose.
6:20 pm: Ahhhh. That’s better. Fresh new meat. Apparently the entire neighbourhood’s worth of children decided to T&T in a pack of jovial princesses, pirates, Titans fans and Harry Potters. I’ve given away half the candy and I have restored my faith in humanity.
6:30 pm: There’s been a steady trickle of children, which does my heart glad. As well as my waistline. Being stuck in a house all week with Nestle Crunch Caramel bars would have been disastrous. In between innocent children I’m arguing with Kleinheider about I.Q. in the military. It’s kind of like having my brother (the poopy monkeyhead) around.
6:49 pm: I’m ready to give up. I want my soup and toast. I’m tired of hearing the dogs bark. I’m so fickle.
7:03 pm: I think I’m done. No body has come by for 15 minutes. My soup is calling me. Seriously, the golden butternut squash soup is totally restuaurant-worthy. And it’s perfect for Halloween.
7:05 pm: After yammering about the Grinch and terrorists and soup I realised that I totally forgot to write the long poignant piece about my dad’s birthday. Part of it was forgetfulness–part of it was realising that I’ve got a bit of a cold and that really cramps my writing style. My dad’s birthday is right now. Happy Birthday, Dad.
9:34 pm: Postscript.
My dad got 68% off his meal at the local Mexican restaurant. Three guesses why. I enjoyed my soup and toast. We had no more trick or treaters after 7:00, bringing our grand total to around 20 or so. 20. Is that even enough for a softball team? I think no small part of me is a bit p.o.’d. I’m an adult, and it’s my turn to show off my house and be the nice neighbour with the good candy. Thanks for robbing me of that, you selfish Trunk Or Treating kids!!!!
Oh, and if I’m up all night it’s because I’m worried about Joe Dubin’s neighbour’s dog.