I like pumpkin stuff.
Yeah, I said it. I’m so far from a basic bitch I don’t even own one pair of yoga pants, but I never turn down a good pumpkin spice latte if I can help it. What’s more, I’ll have a slice of pumpkin loaf or a pumpkin muffin with cream cheese frosting right along with that latte and not even bat an eyelash.
It goes deeper than that, however. I love sweater weather. I own, and frequently wear, many garments made of fleece. I fire up the woodstove way too soon. I put up “black” strings of lights for Halloween. I regularly devote hours upon hours to making my son’s costume fabulous (while he’s thinking it’ll be good enough to cut something out of cardboard).
Maybe it’s because I’ve always lived in the Northeast U.S., where fall looks like the stock photo background of an inspirational Facebook meme, so I have certain expectations about the season (although I have been snowed on before), but I embrace fall in all its glory, no apologies.
As if to feed my addiction, the village I live in celebrates Halloween the old-fashioned way: with hundreds of kids going door to door seeking candy. No Trunk or Treat, no mall trick-or-treating, no healthy snacks and toothbrushes, no lockdown party in the fire hall. Nope, every year we have that ring-the-doorbell-and-demand-sugar free-for-all you usually only get to see in the movies.
The only frightening thing is running out of candy. I have gone through fifteen bags in one night and barely had any left over. Absolutely terrifying, running low on candy while the zombie hordes keep coming to your door, undeterred. I’ve heard you can hold them off by tossing scoops of granulated sugar on the ground and flinging handfuls of semi-sweet chocolate chips at them, but I’ve never gotten that desperate, so it’s still just a theory.
For those readers whose danger-alarm has flickered to life while reading this, no worries—our Halloween tradition is perfectly safe. The village is small enough that everyone pretty much knows everyone else, and all parents look out for all kids, not just their own. I’ve even witnessed older kids looking out for younger ones, and they aren’t even their siblings. Plus the police are out in force all night, even riding bikes through the throngs on the streets.
Of course, the village I live in isn’t perfect. No place is. And someday we might move away—who knows? If we do, I’ll still hold dear the fond memories of Hallmark-movie-worthy Halloweens every time I sip another pumpkin spice latte (because I’m not giving those suckers up for anything!) Happy Halloween!
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