If you know anything about me, you know I despise children. What? Like I have ANY reason to lie about it? Puh-LEEZ! I know they are necessary for the propagation of the species and the creation of cheap, third-world-made designer garments—but just look at your once childless, young and hip hetero friends who now tramp around in spit-up stained yoga pants and crocs bemoaning a world that encompasses very little outside the Wiggles and head lice and you will understand my view. Children suck all the life, youth and vitality right out of you—leaving behind, well...something resembling your parents.
But for one night out of the year, I put down my pepper spray and actually delight in opening my door to the happy voices of little children. Of course, it usually takes at least 4 shakers of martinis to get me there, but as long as I remember to wear pants and adhere to the advice of my parole officer that mini-bar bottles of Tanqueray are not suitable Halloween treats, then everything goes just fine.
You know, speaking of parents, Mother was the perfect Halloween mom and our house was THE stop for trick-or-treating children from miles around. I remember how Mother would set up a card table in the foyer, swathed in a halloween print tablecloth from the five and dime and lay out the treats—homemade and store bought. One did not just ring Mrs Betty's doorbell and crassly hold forth a pillowcase—oh no. Children were ushered down the catwalk of our entryway where they had to give a twirl and show Mrs Betty their costume. After passing silent judgement on how any mother could send her child out in that ugly-ass getup, Mother led them to the altar of high fructose corn goodness where they were asked to say the magic password. Failure to provide the magic password in the form of a sweetly drawled "trick or treat" would ensure a furrowed brow from Mrs Betty as she steered you away from the caramel apples and popcorn balls to the rock-hard Mary Janes before sending you into the night with a wave of her Carlton 100 and tsk-tsk-tsking your unfortunate future being brought up as poor white trash.
I certainly don't have Mother's flair for opening my home to the unwashed spawn of the neighborhood and I will never be able to affect her Blanche Dubois as Den Mother demeanor—that my friends, she took to her grave—but I would like to think that I managed to channel just a bit of her on Halloween for the handful of brave souls who rang our bell. PM was only slightly annoyed by the whole thing—being Filipino and all you know. He was, however, proud that not a single child received a cigarette burn or visible bruising. I'm sweet like that you know.
Le sigh—another Halloween come and gone—but I must say, it was enjoyable to spend at least part of it passing out candy instead of just passing out. Maybe the little life leeches are not so terrible after all. However, this will not stop me from complaining the next time my favorite eatery is only two clowns and skeeball game away from being a Chuck E Cheese by being overrun with the little pink eye dispensers.
Perfect post! Loved every bit of the wit!
Posted by: Michael Guy | November 15, 2009 at 05:08 PM