I feel I'm nearing the point of not turning on my porch light for Trick or Treat-ers anymore.
My bones creak and groan with even the thought of getting up and down from Daddio's Lazy Boy chair to answer the door.
I'm about ready to punch the next pint sized terrorist that kicks my door or lays on my doorbell.
(The candy lady's old bladder does call every now and again)
I don't mind passing the goodies to the kids over 16, seriously, I simply look past the lip and eyebrow piercings and the tatts and drop in a miniature Milky Way bar.
But the babies...
the toothless babies may just be where I draw the line.
A friend at work and I shared old lady horror stories yesterday of our Halloween adventures.
I too had (several, actually) young-ins pass me their own bag and then another bag saying "it's for my brother/sister"... pointing to a baby in a stroller.
Not a toddler mind you... the babies in those strollers still smelled of afterbirth.
Should there have been a warning issued to the parents piloting the stroller...?
"Hey, can that kid, the toothless one, chow nuts yet?"
"The coconut in this Almond Joy may prove a choking hazard for those with only a suckling instinct"....
When, when exactly when did I become such an evil spirited old bag?
A work in progress I guess.
Tell me your Halloween tales..
Or am I alone in my misery?