I have a love/hate relationship with Halloween.
On the one hand, I love the cutesy, fun aspects of Halloween. Carving jack o’lanterns, festooning the house with spider webs, costume parties, handing out candy.
By the way, if you are not yet following @badbanana on Twitter, I suggest you do so. He’s clever and funny and very creative. An unusually high number of my “favorited” tweets comes from him. Today he twttered… tweeted… whatEVER:
“Children, I’ll be handing out Sweet Tarts this year. You can ask Ben Bernanke where your Snickers went.”
We have a pretty pathetic assortment of candy on offer here this year too. My usual method is to buy only candy *I* like and hope that there are leftovers. However, Himself bought the candy this year, and to my relief (or is it chagrin?) he bought a much more eclectic assortment of candy, only a few of which have ANY appeal to me. He got:
PayDay, Twizzlers, Jolly Ranchers Jujyfruits, Whoppers, Tootsie Rolls and Kitkats.
But based on the way my corset fit today, that’s probably a good thing.
I should probably never eat again.
Anyway, the thing I hate about Halloween is the whole scary part. I don’t LIKE being scared. I don’t WANT to walk through a haunted house, or go on a haunted hayride, or watch movies designed to scare the everliving shit out of me. I don’t WANT to have nightmares for a week.
I’m not a big fan of zombies, aliens, demons, or werewolves. They are nasty creatures. Vampires are a little better and ghosts aren’t TOO bad, as long as they aren’t mean. I’m not sure I really believe in ghosts, but there were the Party People in my century-old home in upstate New York. I’d hear them at night, after I was in bed. The faint, convivial sounds of a party going on downstairs. Not scary. Rather comforting.
So, no, I didn’t go to Witches Wood. I’m not going to watch any of the horror films available on cable tonight: The Hills Have Eyes, Poltergeist, Halloween: H20. I’m not going to watch the offerings on PPV: The Exorcist, The Omen, or Blood Feast.
I’m going to post this pretty vintage postcard, take the damned corset jacket off and paw through the candy, picking out the good stuff before the doorbell starts ringing.
Guess what I’m going for?