It's October 26. We are still pumpkin-less.
In Mulletville, people not only have pumpkins, they have Martha Stewarted the shit out of them. What happened to crooked eyes and a lopsided mouth being good enough? Now your front step has to be adorned with pumpkins whose facial carvings are whisper thin and catch the cascading fragrance of scented autumn candles. And if passerbys don’t stop and ooh and aahh over your magical use of a specialty knife you might as well go hang your head in shame.
Did I miss the pumpkin party at Martha’s? The one where she convinced everyone and their mother to transform their poor, sweet pumpkins into garish woodland creatures?
I don’t mean to judge, I really don’t. If it brings you joy to Jianzhi your pumpkin then by all means, go ballistic. All I’m saying is, can’t we lower the bar a bit? Can’t we cut up our pumpkins with a good ole steak knife instead of having to bust out the drill with 5/8-inch bit or large hole cutter, string lights, rubber bands, electrical tape, rubber mallet, and wood gouge or linoleum cutter?
When I sat down to write this I actually felt like a lousy parent for not having a pumpkin yet for Junior. But see, he fell asleep today on our drive to the pumpkin patch and we ended up taking a long trip that brought us here:
And instead of measuring symmetrical petals on my pumpkin so it would look like a cabbage rose, I got to do this:
And while Flipper took Junior for a ride, Chuck and I made out like people who have just gotten engaged. Ok, that's not us. It's a random couple who couldn't keep their hands off each other:
In anticipation of the upcoming holidays—which are already being crammed down our throats—I think we should all give ourselves a nice, fat break. Don't you agree?
(If you don't agree with me, to celebrate the commercial success of her freakish need to prettify everything, Miss Stewart is holding a pumpkin carving contest. The prize? Five bat window clings made in China. Go get 'em tiger.)