This past weekend consisted of me typing away at this very keyboard by the dim glow of my cell phone (the keys I couldn’t see, I let my fingers guide me to by memory). An e-mail has never taken me quite so long to produce, but anything to keep those costume-wearing freaks away from my doorbell! Trying to be helpful, my mother decided to flick on the back hall light assuring me that it wasn’t bright enough to draw any attention from the outside. Seconds later, excited chatter could be heard getting within an uncomfortably close range. “Quick, shut it off! I can hear them getting closer!”, I panicked. My mom, who was standing by the light switch, and who could also hear what was coming, frantically turned off the light…except she didn’t. Instead, she had accidentally turned on the living room light, which might as well have been a glowing sign on our roof reading: HEY TRICK-OR-TREATERS OVER HERE!.
I don’t know when I started hating Halloween. Perhaps about the time I was deemed too old to collect candy. The only thing I remember about my trick-or-treating days is my mom following me around in the car as I froze my butt off walking from one house to the other. Oh, and this one incident that involved me ringing a doorbell, a guy wearing one of those glasses with the attached nose and moustache answering and these twin Asian girls popping out from behind him yelling, “Happy Halloween”. I must have been very young because I remember being so incredibly frightened by this, that I backed into the screen door and got my wig caught on it. I viciously fought the door to get myself out of there. I never dressed up as Princess Jasmine again.
As far as general Halloween memories growing-up go…I recall being Cleopatra every other year because I loved the way my mom did my make-up all fancy. I remember carving a pumpkin, naming him “Gino” and proceeding to dramatically sing to him when I was about 3 years old (that performance was captured on video for me to enjoy for years to come). There is a picture of me looking like a massively plump baby chicken, as I’ve been stuffed into layers of sweaters and jackets under my feathery costume to avoid me from getting sick on Halloween night. However, every year I remember the best part was getting home from a long night of collecting, spilling my bags of candy out onto the carpet and separating my favourite treats (the ones I would of course devour first).
As a past sugar zombie myself, I have to say Halloween just isn’t the same. Candy has been replaced with boos. Trick-or-treating has been replaced with bar-hoping. And gals, you might as well wear the costumes you wore when you were little because it’s all about who can bare the most skin. I managed to avoid the sugar zombies this year. However, besides the fact that hiding from them is exhausting, I guess it would be kind of cool to be a tiny part of their childhood memories. I suppose next year it won’t kill me to throw candy at them from my front door like everybody else.
Enjoy the sugar highs people!