Most movie buffs know sequels are rarely as good as the original. Life can be like that, too.
Doug and I went to a Halloween costume party at the neighbors' house on Oct. 18, and we had a blast. That was our "first" Halloween for 2013.
The sequel was released on Oct. 31: "Halloween 2: The Trick or Treating." Unfortunately, it was a real disappointment, more of a trick than a treat. Kind of like "The Land Before Time 13," "A Good Day to Die Hard," "Look Who's Talking Too," and "Taken 3."
This was our first Halloween in our new home, so we didn't know what to expect. Lots of trick-or-treaters? A small turnout? Any at all?
We wanted to have enough candy to meet the demand, but not so much as to increase my butt size beyond my leggings' ability to contain it.
Gathering all the available facts, that we live across the street from a cow pasture, a quarter-block from a huge new housing development, a mile from the lake where Doug goes fishing, within walking distance of a Walmart Superstore, and our house is set well back from the road, surrounded by trees, with no sidewalks, we took our best guess and calculated that we'd need enough candy to fill an average-size 18-wheel tractor-trailer. Or the Luray Caverns. In hindsight, we might have overestimated.
This year, we decided to fill individual treat bags with an assortment of goodies, rather than giving out random handfuls of assorted snack-size candy bars. (Our rule of thumb is, "The smaller and more adorable the child, the bigger the handful.") So Halloween afternoon, we made up goodie bags, making sure that each had the exact same selection, and number, of treats, lest we inadvertently cause squabbles between friends or siblings.
By 6 p.m., we had 125 treat-filled bags and we were ready for the onslaught we were (relatively) certain would come. After switching on the porch and driveway lights, Doug and I sat back and waited for the fun to begin.
By 6:45, the fun still had not begun. With nary a goodie bag given out, Doug expressed concern that perhaps our lights weren't visible from the road. Thinking he might be on to something (and desperate not to be stuck with all that candy come Nov. 1), I turned on every light in every room in the front part of the house and set up a line of road flares leading directly to our front door.
At 7:15, Doug began nibbling on bite size Snickers from the treat bags. At 7:45, he started on the Milky Ways. At 8 p.m., he was well into the Reese's Cups. "Leave some for the kids!" I scolded, while craning my neck out the window for a sign, any sign, of trick-or-treaters. By that point, I'd have considered a massive TP job on our house to be a good sign.
At 8:15. I was picking Hershey's Kisses out of the goodie bags and chomping them three at a time while Doug finished off the Twizzlers.
By 8:30, I began to despair any trick-or-treaters would come. To cheer up, I started on the Butterfingers.
At 9:05 p.m., "I don't feel so good," I moaned, holding my stomach and suppressing a chocolate burp. Doug didn't hear me. He was busy rummaging through the medicine cabinet in search of Pepto Bismol. I looked at the pile of empty candy wrappers in horror, the most horror I'd felt since watching "I'll Always Know What You Did Last Summer," and decided that, yep, I'm definitely going to need some new leggings.