Okay, so this year I don't carve the pumpkin and light a candle inside of it, but it's only because the store is out of pumpkins when I go this afternoon. I have been out and about this Halloween, so I'm already wearing my black and gold spider web shirt, bright red nail polish, charcoal eye make-up, and black lip gloss. Yes, I really am seen in public like this.
I have candy in a bowl -- not much, because I know there will be leftovers, so I make sure to have Reese's peanut butter cups for me and Kit-Kats for my son. I have the light on, just the front light and not the kitchen light so kids will know which doorbell to ring. In addition to my makeshift costume, I am wearing an air of optimism.
There are plenty of children in my neighborhood: the landlord's kids out front,. the gaggle of kids a few houses over, and I know there are others because I see them stream off the school bus that I am often stuck behind in traffic on my way home from work. I also know that they are aware of where my doorbell is because they're always ringing it to sell me something -- gift wrap, magazines, Girl Scout cookies...
So, I wait. I wait from 5:00 until well past 7:00, when trick-or-treating is supposed to stop. Just like every Halloween, I can count the number of kiddos on one hand. I can count them on my feet ... with my socks on ... and shoes. Just like every Halloween, nobody comes.
Nobody rings my doorbell; nobody reaches deep into the bowl for too many pieces of candy. I keep my skull earrings in way past my regular bedtime to squeeze that last little bit out of the holiday. I'll even get an extra hour of it later when I set the clocks back. I'm just prolonging the inevitable, though. I can extend Halloween 364 more days and it won't matter. Still, no one will come.
It's okay, though. I'm already planning my costume for next year because I am, after all, an eternal Halloween optimist.
