It's late. Not as late as it was last night at this time, but that's only because our clocks will all magically go backwards by an hour tonight. Still, it's pretty late.
My wife is asleep. So are the kids. Me, I'm up. I'm going to be up for a while too. Because it's Halloween, that sensational holiday celebration that allows total strangers to flock to my front door, demand candy while looking bored, then skeedaddle on to the next house to repeat the routine.
Normally I'm just happy if the cars in my driveway survive the night unscathed. Not this year though. This year is different.
I don't know if it has to do with a regionalized gloom setting over central Florida, due to our 12.7% unemployment rate. That would make sense. Something is out of whack though, that's for sure. Maybe the kiddies are all out of sorts because the stimulus hasn't boosted our economy the way it was expected to. Or perhaps they still haven't gotten over NBC canceling Journey Man a couple seasons ago. I know I'm still bumming those weasels killed Life last year – just when it was getting really good, too.
Whatever the cause, there was a noticeable absence tonight of kids in freaky outfits stumbling through the darkened streets of my neighborhood in search of a sugar high.
We stocked up on the good stuff, as always. Kit Kats, Milky Ways, Snickers, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and Twix were at the ready, and we were willing to pass them out with reckless abandon. But no takers. Well, not many anyway. We did get a teenage girl in a skirt that even she realized was way too short. Apparently she didn't make the connection before leaving her house, though. She kept pulling the abbreviated tuft of fabric down over her butt as she walked up, then down our driveway. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She went for slutty and hot, but came away with nothing more than embarrassed and rushing to get back home.
Oh well, better luck next year.
There were a few little kids, and a few adults who always seem to come out looking for a freebie. I can live with that. But there was no onslaught of dentists dream patients. No lively characters, no groups, no roving bands of candy collectors.
What's the world coming too?
So now I'm stuck in a house filled with gobs of candy – and me with no will power to speak of. Normally it's no problem. I can pass this stuff up at the store, and I almost always do. It's when it makes an appearance at the house I have trouble. It calls my name, especially late at night, pleading with me to be a bad baby boomer and gobble up handfuls of miniature candies at a time.
Pity me. It's going to be a long night. And a guilt ridden tomorrow.