It's hard to get in the mood for this:
When the outside of your home looks like this:
And your child is chanting, "Yah! Santa's coming! Santa's coming!"
I don't mind the snow, I'm just a little surprised by it. The last time it snowed before Halloween it was 1996. I was at college in upperstate New York. I remember it distinctly because I'd been walking home from a Halloween party with a group of friends and I fell into a snow-covered shrub.
My costume had been Shooting Star; my weapon had been a toy gun full of vodka—cheap vodka—that I'd refilled all night and shot into people's mouths. (If you're going to a party and don't know many people, I highly recommend this costume as a way to quickly make friends.)
As I lay in the shrub, one of my friends shouted, "Fallen star! "Fallen star!"
Drunk people are so funny.
They pulled me from the shrub. When we got to the next party and I discovered I had pieces of shrub stuck between my teeth, someone was even nice enough to floss my teeth with strands of my hair.
Hey, I didn't have to tell you I fell face-first.
What about you? Are you looking out your window as the snow falls, reminiscing about your favorite Halloween costume? Or are you lying on the beach drinking a Bahama Mama?
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.