shopping trips a few years ago, some force magically lured me to the candy aisle. I usually can resist the urge to splurge on sour Skittles or the assorted Reese's treat, but the force was apparently stronger than my nearly beyond-human willpower that day. And that's when I saw them. Orange bags. Black bags. Bags with ghosts on them. Even bags with cute little pumpkins on the front. The Halloween candy.
It all sat on the shelves just ripe for the taking, and my mouth instantly watered at the thought of candy corn -- that glorious tri-colored bite-sized candy that resembles miniature triangles. I even had a hankering for those circular candies wrapped in that black and orange paper, never mind the fact that no one actually knows what those things are. It's just something you eat. Because it's Halloween season, and the last thing your inner child wants is to be left out in the misty fall night, an empty pail dangling depressingly from your side.
But there are those people, the Grinches of All Hallow's Eve, who like to kick those plastic buckets out of your hand. They even dread the fateful day, so come Oct. 31st, they hole themselves up in their homes, turn down the lights, hide all traces of candy and pray the doorbell never lets out a single ding-dong. They don't even care if candy-obsessed children revolt and egg the house. My mother is one of those people. She used to reluctantly dress up, one of the sorry prerequisites of working for the school system, and when the clock struck noon, she proceeds to disrobe. Off comes the painted-on black whiskers -- only three whiskers on each cheek because that's all she could muster at 6 a.m. And off comes the rather short and stubby black tail taped to her rump. She's a minimalist when it comes to all things Halloween.
P.S. To the makers of Candy Corn: I am holding you personally responsible for my recent tummy bulge. I hope you're satisfied!
P.P.S. On the beauty of fall.
[Photos via Pinterest]