I’m not a major Halloweeno*, though of course it was magical for the child Monica. And even the more adult (though now unforgivably immature) Monica used to like the parties. Sigh, that was then, though I suspect that the noted hermit Nicholas Jainschigg may be responsible for my lost ability to frivol.
This year, though, longing has been raised by the perfect confluence of its falling not only on the coveted Saturday night slot, with a full moon, but that this moon is blue. Even I would consider dressing up again under those conditions, leaving the hermit Nicholas Jainschigg to do what he likes.
Instead, we are hiding from trick-or-treaters tonight--Rhode Island will trick or treat, pandemic or not. Because of the perfect (otherwise) conditions, I plan to make an effort and set our medical skeleton on the porch, sitting behind a table on which three socially distanced wrapped candies will be set. I hear that is the approved method. When they disappear, I will sneak out to restock.
And they'd damn well better disappear. Because even though I bought very few, they're still over my eating limits. And I will eat them. I'm counting on the Rhode Island "fuck you" attitude. Which I kind of like, because it's not about politics. Just contrariness.
Mask up, y’all.
*Halloweeno — n. Someone in festive costume.
Example: So, two nuns walk into a subway car (not that kind of joke). The child Monica looks up and whispers, “Look, Mommy. It’s Halloweenos!”