Halloween: A Horror Story

I don't really get Halloween. I mean, I enjoy a good masquerade ball as much as the next girl (actually, I've never been to a masquerade ball, but I have no doubt that I would enjoy it very much, should I ever achieve my dream of travelling back to 1868 and actually getting to attend one.) And of course, I like candy far more than I probably should.

What don't I like? Any day that exhorts the vast majority of the world's children to act even more like spoiled, entitled little brats than they normally do any day of the week. Any day where I am encouraged, nay, expected to dress up like Donatella Versace and squeeze into a subway car shared with a gorilla, 6 women wearing pointy black hats, and a fat guy in an orange sweatsuit who I think is supposed to be a pumpkin, but might just be a fat guy with very little fashion sense. Any day where the grocery store cashier ringing up my loaf of bread and 12-pack of Diet Coke is likely to be wearing any of the above costumes.

Let us take, for example, the ridiculous concept of trick-or-treating. In what universe is it "adorable," "darling," or "so cute" for children to march up to the houses of total strangers and demand candy just because they want it? I would like to institute a holiday where I can march up to Tiffany or Cartier or even my (at this point non-existent, which is possibly why I'm so crabby) boyfriend and demand jewelry just because I want it. Now that is a holiday I could support. Does the fact that the child is dressed in some bizarre costume that is probably far too hyper-sexualized for his/her age (no little girl needs to march around in short-shorts and a bald cap and declare herself Britney Spears, that is just wrong) and probably cost more than my last purchase at Ann Taylor make it okay to rudely demand candy in exchange for NOT damaging my property? If I answered the door by informing the children that they should give me candy (or jewelry) in exchange for me not kicking them in the pants, no one would call me cute except maybe the nice women I'd meet IN PRISON.

And the older kids! I'm sorry, if you're taller than me, you should go get a job, not knock on my door demanding sweets. If you can drive yourself and your high-school classmates to my neighborhood, than you do not deserve anything from me unless you are the sweet neighborhood kid who I hired to water my plants, and then you already got your $3 an hour which was far more than I made when I was just a neighborhood kid, and I had to baby-sit, and let me tell you, punk-ass 4-year-olds are a lit bigger pain in the neck than my gardenias. If you look like you're in a gang and could kill me if I don't answer my door, than surely you have more important scores to settle on the streets of the 'hood, right?

So I beg of you all, stop the madness! I never thought I'd say this, but take a cue from my parents and the Halloweens of my youth: Rent a movie, order a pizza, lock the door, turn out the lights, and sit in the basement. Then the next day you can drive to Rite-Aid and buy all the leftover candy for half price, and it will be good candy that you picked out, not some junk that the cheap neighbor at the end of the block gives out, not tofu bars from the creepy vegan couple in the poop colored house, not religious tracts from the weird old lady who attends the church of Gonzo's innards at the top of the street. Am I the only one who sees the logic in this? People, unite! Together we can prevail over this ludicrous day!!!

(This post brought to you by the cranky 80-year-old woman I am on the inside. Anyone want to go shopping at Talbots for new babushkas?)