I admit it, even though some people (those with little imagination, I'm sure) look at me funny. I just love Halloween. I can't help it. I love dressing up, I love decorating with pumpkins and funny faced ghosts and old used crime scene tape (from our police officer son.) I laughed when two of our sons laid on the grass and outlined one another with white spray paint. Now don't give me the blood, gore, or slashers. That's not Halloween, that's horror.
Last year, I dressed as a baked potato. This year, I pulled out a long, red cloak that my cousin, Judi, made for me a few years ago. When I first saw the hem dragging on the ground, I told her she should shorten it.
"Oh, no," she said. "Long and sweeping is much cooler."
She was right. I once wore it to Hogle Zoo, and a guy from a group of bikers against child abuse sang that Little Red Riding Hood song, complete with wolf howl, as I walked down the sidewalk. When I walk free of anyone within ten yards of me, I'm safe. If I try to join a group moving down a hallway, inevitably, someone steps on the flowing him of my cape and threatens to garrote me. Very fitting for Halloween, I'm sure, but not my style.
I carried a basket covered with a cloth. Many people guessed I was Little Red Riding Hood. Close. I was Big Red Riding Hood, off to visit my grandchildren. I handed out several goodies as I went to work at the Alternative High School, and later at the elementary school Halloween parade.
I just love Halloween. Maybe it's the candy.
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