After I gave the teenagers the sticky pads and dimes, Tom kept looking out the window to make sure they didn't come back and TP the house
This was the Halloween for which I spent exactly $0.
Saturday was the church "Trunk or Treat" activity. I didn't feel like shopping or spending any money or even leaving the house, basically. I baked oatmeal raisin cookies, wrapped them individually in Saran wrap and tied them with that plasticy ribbon stuff that curls up when you run it against the edge of a scissor. Scissors?
For costumes, we wore leprechaun hats from our vast collection of St. Patrick's Day stuff. (Tom's birthday is 3/17. Mark your calendars.)
We trunked. We treated. I thought we were done. Twenty-hour hours later, kids started knocking on the door. We had no candy. I handed out all of the sample toothbrushes from our dentist. (We don't use them. We have an electric one.) Then all the little tubes of toothpaste. (We don't use them. They give me canker sores.) Then all the floss. (Shoot. We were sort of planning to use them.) Then a bunch of tiny little, sample-sized bottles of fingernail polish that I got somewhere and had never opened. Then some granola bars. Then I was down to promotional sticky pads from my last job and a couple of dimes. The last two kids to the door, I was honest: "We have no candy. All I've got left is a quarter in one hand and bunch of pennies in the other." I shuffled my hands around, like the shell game operator that I am. "Pick a hand."
Maybe it was just all the sugar they'd already eaten, but they seemed delighted.
Saturday was the church "Trunk or Treat" activity. I didn't feel like shopping or spending any money or even leaving the house, basically. I baked oatmeal raisin cookies, wrapped them individually in Saran wrap and tied them with that plasticy ribbon stuff that curls up when you run it against the edge of a scissor. Scissors?
For costumes, we wore leprechaun hats from our vast collection of St. Patrick's Day stuff. (Tom's birthday is 3/17. Mark your calendars.)
We trunked. We treated. I thought we were done. Twenty-hour hours later, kids started knocking on the door. We had no candy. I handed out all of the sample toothbrushes from our dentist. (We don't use them. We have an electric one.) Then all the little tubes of toothpaste. (We don't use them. They give me canker sores.) Then all the floss. (Shoot. We were sort of planning to use them.) Then a bunch of tiny little, sample-sized bottles of fingernail polish that I got somewhere and had never opened. Then some granola bars. Then I was down to promotional sticky pads from my last job and a couple of dimes. The last two kids to the door, I was honest: "We have no candy. All I've got left is a quarter in one hand and bunch of pennies in the other." I shuffled my hands around, like the shell game operator that I am. "Pick a hand."
Maybe it was just all the sugar they'd already eaten, but they seemed delighted.
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