This won't hurt a bit...

....it's now the MASH!

You know, it's been a few years since I went trick-or-treating. And I didn't think that the whole methodology of trick-or-treating had really changed all that much since the Druids dressed up and went hut to hut with pillowcases asking for fun-size Snickers, what, ten thousand years ago?
Apparently it has.

Because apparently a freaking costume is no longer requisite for the asking-of-candy. ASKING. Ha, more like holding out their shopping bags with a look of entitlement. {Sidebar: My sister has had a similar problem in her posh neighborhood hundreds of miles away. Her soloution? TWO sets of candy. The A candy -- the good shit: Snickers, Skittles, M&Ms, etc... and the B candy -- the cheap shit: those peppermint star hardcandies, tootsie rolls and probably, knowing my sister, pebbles and cat poop. If you didn't bother to wear a costume, be over 10 and say trick-or-treat or generally look like a hooligan, you get a nice warm handfull of crap. She is a genius.} And pillowcases or cute plastic halloween pumpkins? Hardly! I even saw one kid with a white, kitchen force-flex garbage bag. Do I suddenly live in the ghetto and didn't realize it?

Now I got my fill last night of the cutsie little tots who are too scared to say trick-or-treat and probably still seeing bright white flashes when they blink because their parents down the walk won't stop taking pictures. I think I saw all of the major princesses represented, a Nemo and the furry-cover-all-body suit of your favorite mythical creature de jour. The Betrothed and I cooed out the front door at each of them. And I happily poured candy into their little sacks.

I'm also turning into an old woman who is unaware of pop culture, apparently. A young girl came up in a black mini skirt with a blonde wig and one of those head-set microphone (a la Madonna on her Erotica tour). I said, "Ohh, are you American Idol?" {not the American Idol or an American Idol, just "American Idol" -- as if her costume is meant to embody the whole show? I'm going to get tee-peed for sure now.} She throws her head back and says, "Ugh! No! Britney Spears!"

This year, however, we had a bit of a calculation problem. Two years ago {BCC -- before Cathy's Cohabitation}, the Betrothed swears he didn't get any kids to the house. It is a newish 'hood and there weren't many kids in the streets, so it's plausible. I think that's probably more than likely bullshit and he has a poor memory and/or didn't buy candy, etc. Last year we decided to play over/under on the number of kids we'd get. He said 4 or less, I said 6 or more. I won with 8. This year I bought candy last week and pulled out enough for 15 kids into a ziploc and left the rest out to eat myself (naturally.. please don't act like you don't buy your bag, eat your bag then have to go buy another bag.). Yesterday afternoon I thought I might get another bag, just in case.

We ran out in of candy in about 30 minutes. In fact, and the real cruxt of my blog here, when I was giving out one piece each to conserve my fast depleting resources, the Ninja walking down the stoop said to Dracula coming up the stoop, "Man, she's only giving out ONE piece.." and you know what? Dracula turned around and left! Bastards! He's gonna ruin my rep in the neighb, man!

And that's another thing -- examining the loot before you're even to the driveway?! In a panic, we were giving out 100-Calorie pack Cheetos and Doritos. When I was out of those, I started in on my peanut cluster bars and All-Bran breakfast bars (any kid's dream halloween treat!). A pack of 'tweens came up the stoop, one of whom made me wish I had employed my sister's system. A snotty little girl in sweat pants and t-shirt tied into a midriff ball at her side -- I hardly thought she was attempting a tribute to Olivia Newton John's "Physical" video. I dropped a peanut cluster bar into her bag and she trotted off down the porch. Halfway to the driveway, she holds up the peanut cluster bar and yells, "Uh, HI! I'm ALLERGIC! I need something ELSE." She walked back up to the door, pushed Woody the Toy Story cowbody out of the way to hand me my peanut cluster bar and take a 100-Calorie Cheetos.

The Betrothed was sweating bullets about our diminished supply {and he sure as hell wasn't giving away my Orbit gum packs} -- as if we were inches from having to barricade the house and wait it out in the bomb cellar until the apocalypse of trick-or-treaters left. He left the house feverishly to purchase more candy for the unrelenting stream of children. {Incidentally, while he was gone I contemplated the giving out of soup and canned cat food. Which, the BFF points out, would create interesting cafeteria conversation the next day. "Hey, Bobby, did you go to the house with the lady giving out cat food?"}

The Betrothed returned with FIVE bags of candy. A touch of overkill, really. And our doorbell didn't ring again. Naturally. That's how it always goes. Luckilly we got a slew of highschoolers later in the evening -- who had made a theme of their trick-or-treating -- and were getting handfulls of candy for it from me. {and incidentally, our end count was 51. I won again. The Betrothed had 11 and under this year, I had 12 or more}

Next year I'm giving out rocks {a la Charlie Brown} and will risk getting my house egged in the name of preserving Halloween tradition -- primarily being Costumes and Manners.

I think the "trick or treat" choice outta be mine.

And P.S. One of the best features of this Spooky season was my broken radio. I didn't hear "Monster Mash" even once. Ahh, xanadu!