We don’t get a lot of trick-ortreaters here on Charlie Brown Road.
We always stock up on candy and apples and stuff
like that and we leave on the front porch light.
We have a nice fodder shock in the front yard with pumpkins and big potted mums scattered about, but we don’t have any ghostly stuff waving about for fear of scaring the little goblins who may come calling. We don’t even have a jack-o-lantern.
We even leave the front door open and turn on every light in the house. Both our dogs love kids, no matter how scary their attire, so they sit beside the steps wagging their tails in anticipation. To call 249 Charlie Brown road inviting on October 31 would grossly understating the facts.
Sometimes our niece,
Paula Turner, does show up at the last minute with her two, not-solittle anymore Tristan and Hallie. They drive five miles just to show off to Great-uncle Ike and Great-aunt Loretta knowing full well that they are gonna make a haul and it’s not going to be just two little pieces of bubble gum or a jawbreaker.
They expect, and generally k receive, a shovel full of stuff. Still, suffice to say, there has been no shortage of leftover stuff to rot your teeth in our house between Halloween and Thanksgiving since our own brood left the nest some years ago.
Last Saturday night we were shopping and I had placed “hallo treats” on the grocery list.
I don’t know whether you’ve priced any of this stuff lately or not, but Loretta took one look at a pathetic little bag of miniature candy bars priced $3.99 and then a look at me.
“Why don’t we just turn out all the lights and act like we’re not home this year?” she asked.
“Where are we gonna park the vehicles?” I asked. ” If people see three vehicles parked where they’re supposed to be, they are gonna know that we are home. Do you want the word to get out that we’re so tight we act like we aren’t home just so we won’t have to shell out a few bucks for poor hungry children who suffer untold discomfort to get to Charlie Brown just so we can see them? I don’t think so,” is what I told her.
After hefting a dozen or so, I put what felt like the three heaviest bags in our shopping cart and then along came one of our neighbors who pointed out that the peanut drops that you could see through the plastic but buried about four feet deep down in the barrel were absolutely to die for.
“I buy one bag to hand out to the kids,” she said, “and another bag that I eat myself while I’m waiting for them to show up.”
This sounded like a plan to me, so I literally dove into the barrel and came up with two bags of peanut butter rolls and tossed them into the cart. The grocery budget was busted but if any kids show up on Wednesday night, we’ve got em covered.
So we got home and I decided that the proper thing to do was sample some of the goodies to make sure they were going to taste all right and not something that might come back to embarrass us if the kids were less than pleased.
First I picked out a little wrapped candy bar and went to tear it open. I broke a thumbnail to the quick in the process and still did not have candy. Three minutes later I found a pair of scissors in my desk and tried to snip the wrapper. It bent but it did not break and the scissor blade points were not sharp enough to penetrate whatever material they use to wrap candy with these days. I finally bested it with a steak knife.
But in the meantime, I’m wondering why the Armed Forces and the candy-wrapping people don’t get together. Make these wrappers about three times thicker and we’re talking about affordable body armor. Make it 10 times thicker and Humvee drivers would never again have to worry about roadside bombs.
In the meantime, parents need to be concerned not so much about somebody sabotaging the candy kids bring home from trick-or-treating as they should about the kids dismembering themselves with a butcher knife or suffering severe burns from a blowtorch trying to get it open.
In any event, if Halloween has come and gone before you
read this, please know that any kids who showed up on Charlie Brown Road made
out like bandits. If you call my home and Loretta tells you that I’m at the
dentist’s office, then you’ll know that the little goblins passed us by again