When I got home that night, I noticed the smiling jack-o-lantern in my front yard was crushed. “Well, he certainly isn’t smiling anymore now is he?” I mused. “Good. I’m glad”, I thought as I attempted to avoid the splay of pumpkin guts strewn across the sidewalk leading to the front door. That thing gave me the creeps.
But then again, everything about Halloween gives me the creeps. Kids dressed up as Freddy-fodder, emo vampires, cute’n cuddly creatures that have “risen”. I mean, really. Where are those ‘helicopter parents’ when it comes to things that matter? And why, if ever, did anyone think it was a good idea to let their precious little ones go door to door from neighbor to stranger begging for brightly wrapped bits of pure processed evil aka sugar? Clearly, no one passed it by the ADA before leaking the plan to Willy Wonka. Nuff said.
So, despite my intense fear and loathing, how is it that I end up with someone who absolutely LOVES Halloween? And not only loves it, but LIVES for it. Seriously, I’m married to Cruella-in-Carnate (though to be clear, only on October 31. Every other day she’s perfectly sweet and “normal,” and I mean that in the nicest, sincerest possible way).
Honestly, I dread coming home after work every hallow’d eve. Not sure what guise of hideous will greet me at the door. Am definitely no friend of ‘the cackle’ and have never yearned for ‘a blood-stained kiss’ (really, cross my heart). I mean on what planet is embracing your husband with an eyeball hanging out of your head and a promethean cleaver stuck in your back considered romantic? Of all the things on my “Soulmate Checklist” how could I have missed: Must hate Halloween?!
Thankfully, I’ve developed a moderately successful coping strategy: two tumbler-sized glasses full of Scotland’s finest (neat) before donning a mayhem matching costume compliments of my one true love. Speaking of which, where are my damn keys? “Oh. Hi honey. Wow! Love the costume!”