My son is going to be a S.W.A.T. police officer. My daughter finally settled on a ghostly beauty costume. It's something she found on the Internet, and she managed to talk my sister into purchasing it for her (thank God). We have the shoes and makeup to complete said ensembles. I think we're in good shape.
October 31 is supposed to be the warmest day this week, according to the Weather Channel. At least in the mid-50s. The rest of the week can be summed up with three words: "cold" and "rain" and "snow." This morning, I had to actually brush off and scrape my windshield. That irritated me a little bit. I don't hate winter. I hate Halloweens that resemble a Currier & Ives print. Last year, thanks to the backlash of Super Storm Sandy, I had to trudge through six or seven inches of snow to go trick-or-treating with my kids. It was miserable. My son wanted to quit after the third house. (I made him go around the entire neighborhood to get me . . . I mean him . . . to get himself chocolate.)
Well, I'm sure you know what my Magic 8-Ball question is this week:
Is there going to be warm weather on Halloween night?
And Holden Caulfield says:
I put my hand on his shoulder. Boy, he amused me. "You're a real friendly bastard," I told him. "You know that?"
That's not very encouraging. It's like Holden is patting me on the head, saying, "Silly bastard, I can't believe you're actually asking me that question."
Saint Marty's going to be wearing his thermal underwear on All Hallow's Eve.
|I know how you feel, buddy|