Yep, I’m the neighborhood witch, or something that rhymes with it. The doorbell just rang and I have no treats for the kids. Intentionally. My porch light was off and so were those on the front of the garage. Hint, hint!
But there at the door (yes, I answered it; must be polite) was some little kid in a costume — I think — and silhouetted behind him or her, a large parent with a very large pointed witch’s hat. Out in the near-dark street, a few more kids and adults were walking by.
I apologized and closed the door, annoyed because I felt like scum. Then I checked to make certain all the outside lights were off. I also turned off the lamp in the front corner of the living room, as well another smaller one, and turned the last one in the room to the dimmest setting. Hrumph.
What happened to everyone going to the mall because the streets are too dangerous and the neighbors are putting pins and needles in the treats? Why is everyone suddenly back trolling the neighborhood?
And, incidentally, what kind of adult takes their kid up to a stranger’s darkened door for treat or treat anyway?
I quit buying treats a while back because nobody was coming by and treats were getting ridiculously expensive, but mostly because I never liked having to answer my door twenty times in the same evening and because I knew perfectly well I’d eat all the planned leftovers.
So here I sit, hiding like a sneak thief in my own darkened living room, annoyed that I’m annoyed.