Halloween Hang Over

Halloween is fast becoming another horrendous American holiday with potential for high expectations and disappointing results. In other words: stress. Newly relocated to the suburbs, I had no idea Halloween was such a....religion?

The season officially began three weeks ago when my doorbell rang one night and I found a "boo" bag on our door. Excited, I called my husband, who told me not to eat anything in it, since it could be poisoned. "You lived in Chicago too long," I said. "This is from someone who knows us." In Chicago, Lincoln never even wanted me to open the door on Halloween or any other time, but I always did. Kids from housing projects deserve treats, too.

I read the poem in the bag, hung the ghost on my door (after someone told me that was how I kept from being booed multiple times, who knew?) and went out to buy candy for my target, a new neighbor. That left me with three bags of candy: Butterfinger Wafers, a mix of Hershey favorites and Jolly Ranchers and, of course, Candy Corn. I thought I could resist temptation. I was wrong. I've been eating candy every day for three weeks. And I NEVER eat candy. I don't like the taste. I don't like the way it makes me feel. But I found myself addicted to it. As soon as the baby was down for his nap, I was eating at least one piece a day.

Lincoln, too, was falling prey to the candy monster in our pantry. As Halloween neared he said, "Sweetie, you need to go buy better candy or else the kids will think we're a 'bad' house." What's better than Candy Corn, I asked? "Chocolate, babe," he said, "More chocolate." My charming babysitter, a candy expert and, it turned out, instigator of the "boo" bag, nodded her red head in agreement. I stuffed a Twizzler in my mouth. I had to deal with the pressure somehow, now that my reputation was at stake.

I hit the Walgreens on Halloween Day and paid through the nose for Reese's, Take Fives and Halloween Peeps, which were, by the way, adorable spiders, bats and skulls, perfect for spooky cupcake toppers. "Those kids better show up," I thought darkly to myself as I drove the minivan home.

Because I didn't want anything to interfere with the festivities, I whipped up a half-assed, white bean chili for supper. Then, I dug through my closet for a costume. I came out as Coco Chanel in sailor's pants, a white shirt, pearls and red lipstick. Hmmm, I thought studying my reflection in the mirror, I should look this good every day! My son, who we will call Bartleby, because he's in an "I prefer not to" phase, did not care to wear the adorable Pottery Barn Kids spider costume I bought for him. Lincoln rushed home from his all consuming job, expecting to take cute photos, like all the other parents of toddlers, and was somewhat saddened by Bartleby's lack of holiday spirit. So, Lincoln taught him to say "Gimme some candy!" and to bite the heads off Peeps. I stood by the door, in my pearls, waiting for the Halloween hordes.

No such luck. We only had about ten trick or treaters. I stuffed their bags with candy, vainly trying to give away all of it. Next time I buy a house, I won't pick one that's on the top of a hill. What was there left to do, but binge?

The following day, I packed Lincoln off to work with the rest of it and went to kickboxing, the first step in my candy detox program. Oh, but I could barely kick or box. My limbs were leaden. I could feel the sugar sloshing through my granular bloodstream. The addiction could not be purged that easily. The Halloween Hangover still haunts me. Craving something with this morning's coffee, I prowled in my purse to find...a secret stash of Candy Corn.

Like Kathy, in her endless loop of cartoon feeding, I ate one little bag and then the next. The hangover headache looming, I think next year I will have to get out of town, find a country whose spooky traditions involve eating things made with garlic, not sugar, and stay there until October is over.