This is the first year we’ve trick or treated in our neighborhood; I must say, I was pleasantly surprised. There wasn’t a mullet to be seen—just lots of parents dropping off their kids while they waited in their 4x4s and smoked.
How thoughtful!
As for our neighbors, one nice man dumped his entire bucket of candy into Junior’s bag after admitting he forgot it was Halloween (he’d been too engrossed in the Patriot’s game to answer the door). His lovely woman friend waited until we were almost out of earshot to call him an asshole.
"Mommy? What's an asshole?"
Another neighbor let Junior pet her New England chickens. When the blind one tried to peck Junior’s costumed feet, the woman kicked it.
Gently.
And hello, hearty aerobics. The neighborhood is an outdoor gym, I tell you. It’s house after house of this:
Yes, poor Junior’s “trick or treats” sounded more like “triiiiiii...ck [gasp, gasp] ohhhhhhhhhhr [gasp, gasp] treeeeeeeeee......at” but he scored a lot of extra candy—no one likes to see a miniature dragon in pain. And because Chuck carried Junior for most of the night, Chuck got some exercise, too.
(Velcro would have been helpful. Polyester dragon costume + leather coat = “Chuck! Junior’s sliding down your back again! Grab his tail!”)
As for me, Mulletween helped me answer a pesky existential question that's been plaguing me for the longest time. I now know what I want to be in my next life: a stray dog in this neighborhood. Thanks to the dark sanctity of the neighborhood shrubs, me and my pregnant bladder were able to mark at least five miles of Mulletville in complete modesty. You couldn't ask for a better set-up than dark hills lined with shrubs.
We had such a quaint night, it was enough to make me misty about moving. Could I have misjudged this blighted community? Could we have been BBQing alongside our neighbors for the last four years instead of cowering from their swearing, smoking, chicken-kicking ways?
Could have been so beautiful...could have been so right...
No. When I left for work this morning I found our pumpkins smashed to pieces on our front walkway.
Mulletville, you are officially and irrevocably dumped. Forever.
12 comments:
Are you moving to a town that doesn't allow teenagers? Because otherwise you may see that pumpkin deal again.
Noooooooooooooo! Don't say that! The hooligans are only in Mulletville!
I can think of lots better things to be in my next life than a stray dog. Or a Mulletville resident.
That was my bladder talking.
WTH...honestly, who wants to watch the Patriots?!
Full Disclosure: Colts fan here.
Well, there's no other way to kick a chicken, really.
I've lived in my house for 8 1/2 years and have never seen a smashed pumpkin in our neighborhood. It's a small midwest town. In the bigger town I grew up in, no pumpkin is safe. People are assholes. Why would you smash a little kid's pumpkin?
Dude we've got pumpkin guts spread across the pavement in front of our house too. And we didn't even HAVE a pumpkin this year! It's a dedicated hooligan that brings his own supplies.
Damn ruffians, spit on their candy next year before you hand out.
Pumpkin smashing is just so rude :( Sounds like you all had fun trick or treating though :)
Ha! Yeah! Sounds so familiar...like the couple who handed us an "adult beverage" while we walked. Because we needed more drunk people in town on Halloween.
I was a Scrooge this year. I've spent a lot of money on candy in the past and never had a soul show up. I didn't have it to spend this year so I just hid upstairs, and wouldn't you know as soon as I don't buy any, people knock? And they knock despite the fact that all the lights are off? I was scared to open the door the next morning because I was scared to find a lot worse than smashed pumpkins. Luckily, all I found were about 20 Nerds boxes. No eggs. No broken windows.
I don't want to be a stray dog in my next life. I want to be a spoiled rotten dog like one of my two. I'd trade lives with them now.
BTW, I've given you the Versatile Blogger Award on my blog. Congrats!
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