If last week’s newsletter was a love letter to Fall, consider this my hate mail for Halloween. Don me always black apparel. Harry Potter witchery: my beloved fandom.
By some madman’s authority, Fall, my pure and darling Fall, has been kidnapped for candy corn ransom. I have always felt personally attacked come October’s end because Halloween is essentially a powow of all that I vigorously avoid all year: layers of makeup, cemeteries, opening my door to strangers, cats and staying out after the sun goes down.
Instead of sulking, I’m reframing.
October 31st: A HOLIDAY TEST RUN.
The costumes? You can’t have a dress rehearsal without them.
The after-hoursing? 2019 is not going to ring in itself!
The candy-gorging? Stomach-expansion training for turkey plate number three.
The stranger-danger-door-greetings? A dry run in embracing third cousins that I forgot I had.
We haven’t had to muster holiday hype since July 4th, so I am choosing to see Halloween as a warm-up jog for the marathon that is the Q4 festivity smorgasbord.
To still having no clue how to successfully bob for apples,