Halloween has never been my favorite holiday.
Could it be because my childhood was scarred after a clown showed up at my preschool Halloween party? Clowns were a concerning species of human when I was 5, and judging by current news, they still are. They disturbed me even more than ET. My mom dropped my terrified self off, and encouraged me to stay. She kept telling me it was just a man, which was even more chilling, because why would a grown man dress like that? Does anyone know him? Doesn’t he have a job to be at?
Could it be that I associate Halloween with accidentally locking myself in a single user bathroom at a church Halloween party when I was fifteen? No one could hear my shouts because the industrial sized church vacuum was being used. I oathed to never hog the handicap individual bathroom again, even if it did have the best mirror to admire my Bath and Body Works eye glitter. At that moment, all I saw in the mirror was tear stained Cleopatra makeup. Bless the seven year old that finally wandered in to throw away the Werther’s from her trick or treat bucket.
OR, could it be that Halloween meant getting asked on scary dates to haunted houses, suspenseful movies, and freaky corn mazes? The scary part was less the activity, and more running from the guy you were with. Hoping he wouldn’t grab my hand or try to cuddle always got my adrenaline flowing. (I’m crinkling my nose because TRUE DAT every year.)
Thank goodness for my kids making Halloween a million times more enjoyable.
Can kids borrow Trump’s slogan? “Make holidays great again.”
Thank you to my neighbors who dropped full size candy bars into the bag of my seven toothed child! I appreciate this contribution to my depleted mom-emergency chocolate stash. It’s a real upgrade from stale chocolate chips.