Thursday, November 1, 2012

#110 Trick-Or-Treat Escort

“Daaaad! Hurry up—before all the good candy is gone!” you yell while impatiently waiting at the front door in your costume. It’s brilliant but somehow was snubbed for best costume in the class contest this afternoon. Dad emerges sporting either an oversized bow tie or a clown nose that you chose out. Dad sets out for his Halloween role: trick-or-treat escort.

While you run house to house with the biggest pillow case you could find (*real trick or treaters used pillow cases, if you used a bucket I feel bad for you*), Dad examines the neighborhood with his keen Dad eye. “Check out those decorations!” Dad says while you lose count of how many Butterfingers you got from the last house. Dad is all about looking at decorations and admiring pumpkin carvings. Dad knows other Dads put hard work into them and as so they should be admired.

After each house, after you say your “thank yous,” Dad does the responsible thing and tests your candy. “Dad! Stop eating all my candy!” “Didn’t the police officers come to school? I have to check if it’s poisonous!” as he inhales the 5 mini-snickers you just worked so hard to get.

When the night is winding down (aka when you are crashing from your sugar high), it is time to head home to count your earnings. Dad comes over: “time to pay the trick-or-treat tax.” You smugly look at him and come up with a great idea: “Okay—just one handful.” Much how Dad forced you to only use one handful at each house, you assume this is a great rule to enforce back to him. Mistake.

One handful is a lot bigger when Dad takes it. His hands make Paul Bunyan’s seem like a Smurf’s. How did Dad just get half my candy with just one hand? “Now don’t eat it all or you’ll get a stomach ache” advises Dad as he leaves to finally rest from the day. Trick or treating may be hard work, but it’s even harder for Dad to supervise you doing it. 


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