Halloweaning

Halloween has slipped way down on my depth chart of holidays — it’s still above Purim, but it’s fallen below Columbus Day.  I am the Ebenezer Scrooge of Halloween.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved it as a kid, and I am all for kids having a ball on this candy-laden night.  Trick or treating  is one of our finest traditions, and I, along with the dentists of America, am a hearty proponent of it.

It’s the adults I can’t take.  You mean to tell me that I, a grown man, and a middle-aged one at that, have to go through the stress and ageda of purchasing, or putting together a costume because you invited me to your Halloween party? 

How about no?!

Here’s the thing:  If I’m going to go through the trouble of preparing a costume, and feigning interest in your costume, then the party had better damn well end in an Eyes Wide Shut style orgy or I’m not going! 

You mean I’m supposed to preen around like I’m some kind of extra in a Cecil B. Demille film for three damn hours when I could be home watching the damn Stanford game?!  I don’t think so.

But…since I am a reasonable man, I will make a concession.  You want me at your midlife-crisis kiddy party?  Fine.  Set up a room with a damn TV in it and tune it to the fucking game.  That way when I get tired of prancing around, which will probably take about five minutes, I can have a safe room to escape to.

Oh, and can you put a keg of beer in there too?  Thanks.   

Bah, humbug, put the f***ing game on!