So yeah. Hallowe’en. I’m sure you all had a fun-filled, peanut-packed, nougaty, chocolaty, jolly ol’ rancher of a time last night, doing whatever it is you did to celebrate the hallowed holiday. I’m sure your costume was fabulous and downright clever as all get-out and everyone thought you were just the bee’s knees, even when you drank too much malt liquor after eating too many malted milk balls and wound up groping some chick in a really creative cop costume as you said, “Arrest me, officer!” and then “Frisk me!” Yeah, I’m sure you were adorable. And original.
As for me, well, I stayed home and dressed up as a full-color, four-panel picture postcard of Hawaii with a scribbled message on the back telling the folks back home that I just got “lei’d”. It was a really cute costume. I wish you could’ve seen it.
If you’d come by my place as a trick or treater, you would’ve seen it. See, I’m one of these people who dresses up for the benefit of those who come to my door to collect goodies. But I only answer the door for kids of a certain age, i.e. those who haven’t yet learned what a blowjob is, let alone been involved in one in any capacity. I realize that kids are pretty fast these days, so I may have to change this criterion for next year, lest I find myself opening the door only for kids so young they don’t even have teeth to chew the candy I’m dispensing.
But then again, this year I decided I’m not giving out candy anymore. Not only do I want to avoid contributing to the growing girth of our nation’s children, I also want to know the kids like me for me and my good nature and not for what they can get from me. But I also realize that I don’t want the kids to walk away empty-handed, because I don’t want to be known as some sort of aguafiestas.
So this year I decided to show the kids I care by giving out non-edible items in lieu of fun-size candy bars. You should’ve seen the ear-to-ear grins on these little moppets’ faces when I held out a big box of high-waisted pants I will never wear again and told them to pick out anything they wanted.
“Anything, Miss Jodi?” they asked politely, their eyes widening in awe.
“Anything,” I said, tousling their hair. “And unlike the other houses, where you can only take one piece, well, here you can take as much as you like! Go crazy!”
They went just as bonkers over my old bank statements, circa 1986-1993. Ditto with the tiny plastic bags containing extra buttons to shirts that no longer even exist, keys for locks I’ve long abandoned, expired coupons for “the new Coke”, and instruction booklets for every portable CD player that’s ever had the nerve to break while in my charge.
Of course, it wasn’t all just about the treats here. No. I’m a big supporter of the “trick” side of the coin as well. With one hearty “Get to steppin’, gang!” these kids scattered every which way in order to hold up the other side of the bargain.
You should see how my floors shine! You’d rave over the professional quality paint job in my office! And I’ve never had a better pedicure! My only complaint is that a few of the younger children apparently haven’t learned how to properly fold towels. (Those untalented youngsters were still rewarded with stretched-out ponytail holders. I don’t punish. And I don’t play favorites.)
After all that hard work, though, I didn’t feel content to just give the kids non-snack items as a reward. And wouldn’t you know it: they were so well-mannered that they told me to please fuck off when I handed them fun-size Tofutsie Pops for a job well done!