Tag Archives: halloween

(continuation of I’m Sorry, Kids )

“Oh my god, EYEBALLS!!! COOL!!!”

— every trick-or-treater. Because lucky for me, kids are dumb.

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Really Earned My Paycheck This Session

Kid: “Do you like my Bernie Sanders costume?!”
Me: “Oh my goodness I love love LOVE it! And you know what my favorite part about it is? That it is NOT Donald Trump!”

“Thanks a lot.” — Kid’s brother, who I did not see standing there, dressed as Trump.

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Maybe Start Celebrating It

A mom and her small child get into the elevator with me…

Me (to child): “Ooooh! And what are YOU dressed up as for Halloween? Whatever it is, you look awesome!”
Child: <blank, confused stare>
Mom: “Oh she has no idea it’s Halloween. We don’t celebrate it. This is just what she decided to wear today.”

Oh.

Well then she looks ABSURD.

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I’m Sorry, Kids

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I am embarrassed to admit that I went against everything I believe in as a chocolate-lover and general knower-of-juvenile-things and purchased the cheapest bag of Halloween candy I could find for our trick-or-treaters. I’m sorry, Society, but $16 for the Hershey favorites variety pack that only included 40 pieces seemed insane (and Whoopers in the pack?! No. NOT a favorite and they should be ashamed to have included them. And don’t even get me started on the Almond Joy. In my childhood I could have fed an entire army on the pile of discarded Almond Joys I threw into the bottom corner of my closet. (“But Emily, if you hated them, why did you keep them in your closet?” Um, because when November 15th rolled around and I had polished off my top-ranked goods by including at least 7 pieces of candy in every meal for 2 weeks straight, I’d then enter the “Desperate Times” phase of sugar withdrawal and creep over to the reject stash in the middle of the night, while the rest of the house slumbered. I never claimed to be sane.)).

So, yeah. I went for the $5.00 generic brand, hoping that kids just won’t know the difference.

Because kids don’t notice when a peanut butter “cup” or a chocolate “bar” looks like it was driven over by a car and then stomped on by an angry little elf, right? And parents don’t mind when the wrapper is slightly torn and insides exposed, as if a mouse had already visited this piece of lesser-chocolate, and even the mouse was like, “eh, no thanks…”?*

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Just add it to your “Desperate Times” stash, kids. You’ll thank me later. Like at 3:30am on November 16th.

 

*Still (slightly) better than Eric’s idea to hand out ziplock bags of homemade beef jerky.

Kids These Days

I hand my tutoring kid a small Halloween treat…

Kid: “Oh, thank you so much! But my mother does not allow me to have candy. Should I return it to you so that another child can enjoy it, or would you like me to donate it to the nearest shelter?”

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I find this 20 times more disturbing than if she had snatched it out of my hand and shoved it down her pie-hole without a thank you.

Early Warning Signs of Social Awkwardness

When I was a 4th grader, I dressed up as Michael Jackson for Halloween by putting on a wig, a glove, and covering my entire face in white face paint.

Fifteen years later, it is just now occurring to me how horribly offensive that was. I somehow managed, at age 9, to unknowingly create a more awkward and offensive scenario than going in blackface. I even remember one neighbor hesitating to give me candy. I figured he just wasn’t a Michael fan.

The year before that, in 3rd grade, I went as a hobo. I wore a sign around my neck that said “Buddy, can you spare a dime?” In the town of Potomac, Maryland, where there is now a Real Housewives series (inexplicably devoid of any Jews or white people, but that’s a subject for another post) being filmed. Enough said. We had a school Halloween parade (this was back in the days when schools let children have fun), and I marched through the halls and recess yard wearing my dirty t-shirt, disheveled hair, and “hilarious” sign. The other Potomac parents loved it. The other students didn’t get it (they had never seen a poor person). The teachers, who could not afford to live in Potomac, looked away. I figured maybe they felt bad that they didn’t have a dime to give me.

“Don’t worry!” I told my teacher, laughing. “You don’t REALLY have to give me money!”

She did not smile.

Finally, at age 16, I decided to be something normal for Halloween. A friend was throwing a big Halloween dance party, and I went as Cinderella. Full-blown floor length ball gown, crown, the works.

“Finally!” my mom cried as she dropped me off at the party, “I’ve tried for years to get you wear something like this for Halloween!”

I rolled my eyes, slid the mini-van door closed, and walked into the party, fluffing my skirt upon entrance.

I was the only one in costume.

It’s a wonder I ever leave the apartment.

 

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