For the past few years Monica and I have lived in parts of Chicago populated by the un-or-only-recently-married. As such Halloween was year after year rather disappointing. When we moved back to Columbus we chose to live in a neighborhood that epitomizes the post war American dream, a planned subdivision where every house is a slight variation on one of two designs. While there were clearly other considerations (bus access being one, but thats a subject for another post) I assumed that one payoff of moving to this middle American bland-fest would be a more fulfilling Halloween experience. Clearly I was mistaken.
We bought about two cubic feet of refined sugar, set it in a nice ceramic bowl, carved the pumpkin sandy gave us, and waited for the onslaught. Mind you it was a rainy day here abouts, but the rain stopped in time for the scheduled activities. At just about the appointed kick-off time our front doorbell rang. I was mildly excited about the prospect but I was on the phone so my wife went to the door. She was surprised to find our next door neighbor (fodder for yet another post), staggering drunk and reeking of booze, making his rounds to reassure the neighbors that the trick-or-treaters would come rain or shine.
The addition of a single solitary child about forty five minutes later brought us to our final tally of one skull faced scarecrow looking thing and one sauced hillbilly. Color me jaded.
