Trick-or-treater #1: "Are you supposed to be Taylor Swift?"
I'm sure you meant that as a compliment, honey, but ask it again, and I'll give you a packet of Domino's red pepper flakes instead of candy.
Trick-or-treater #2: (with a very solemn face): "Have a better day."
Thank you, sweetie. Now I'm worried that I tucked my dress into my panties or something.
Passing mom: "You must live in an apartment, huh? That's actually a good idea ..."
So.
Kids are told that to avoid being kidnapped/poisoned/lured away or in any other way acted upon inappropriately when trick-or-treating, they MUST STAY OUT OF APARTMENT BUILDINGS.
Unless, of course, you mean the building across the street from mine. Clearly that one is OK. Just not any of the other, smaller, friendlier-looking ones. Stay away from those, by all means.
OK. That's fine. Most of my neighbors don't even try. But dammit, I had six bags of candy to give out (that was before I discovered the Lost Bag of Baby Ruth Bars), and I was going to get rid of them.
So.
I grabbed a plant stand, my little battery-operated jack-o-lantern, a stool, my phone and a ginormous bag of candy bars, and I sat on the street corner by my building, freezing my toes off & handing out candy. And getting mistaken for Taylor Swift.
I might be the first-ever no-I'm-not-a-hooker-here-have-a-candy-bar lady my town has ever seen.
And you know what? Once I got the feeling back I'm my toes, I was sure it was one of the better Halloween nights I'd had in several years. I wasn't working. I wasn't texting a boy who was avoiding me. I wasn't the awkward-looking and -feeling fat girl in a pumpkin costume at a party (college). I had fun. I was a blonde with a tiara who got told by 4-year-old princesses that I was pretty, I gave out candy & I got to see my neighborhood in a light that made me feel at peace - for about 90 minutes - with the whole world. And I eventually got to soak my feet in some hot water.
Halloween was good this year.
