Heartily, I said, "fuck a whole bunch of that," and skipped out on work 3 hours early, stuffed the kids into the car, and drove across the island with a pie and two rotisserie chickens to crash my mother's house.
The older cousin, who had ditched us for four years running in favor of pizza and video games, suddenly found himself pulling together a costume and hitting the streets for candy, running around in a nostalgic excitement like an old man who had been transformed into a child for just one night. Gavin had been ready to hit the pavement in a massive Chewbacca onesie and furry gloves when he realized he would get heat stroke and die. Fortunately, my aunt showed up in a homemade cockroach costume and jammed the antennae onto his head at the last minute, so we were saved from having to drag his unconscious body around the neighborhood.
It was fantastic. At nightfall the cat and the weenie led the charge, with the big kids in pursuit, and my mother and I trudged along as designated pack horses/costume repair technicians, extra bags for candy tucked under our arms. Our neighborhood is a good one for not giving teenagers any shit about trick-or-treating, although the drunker of the dads, without exception, called the storm trooper "Darth Vadar" and made strangled breathing noises, so that Teddy began stomping around and preemptively announcing, "I'm a storm trooper!" at every door like a dingledong.
It was a renaissance Halloween; one of the good old days.
Pictures:
WINNER
Someone couldn't find their firefighter helmet and reluctantly let me jam them into a cat costume.
She was cool with it once the face paint came out.
Tired old tart/candy poison taste tester.
I've got about six Milky Ways jammed in my mouth here. For safety.
Next year I will endeavor to wear an actual costume instead of putting on a vest and skirt and calling it vaguely witchy. Again.
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