EDGAR & I: Halloween

Here we sit at two in the morning, Edgar with his Absinthe, me dying for a goblet of Chartreuse, with an overflowing bowl of candy untouched by rotting corpse fingers or a witch’s green claws.  Not a ghost, goblin or gypsy rang the doorbell tonight, not even the popular Nicki Hilton costume showed up at my door.  And might I add that with my neighbor’s quick knee surgery, she being dutifully delivered to the hospital door by my husband this morning, I have her Halloween giveouts as well.

So I’m on a sugar high and may need less sleep than even I have been getting lately.  I suspect that the neighborhood kids, though few in this rural community, hate my offered fare.  Understandably, I suppose, since I dislike sweets and am quite particular about what I myself would choose and pick for Halloween that I’m likely to get stuck with eating myself anyway.  Sweet-Tarts, and dark chocolate, and sour gummi-worms, maybe licorice like Good-n-Plenty.  Though I did break down and get a bag of foil-wrapped chocolates in the color and shapes of eyeballs and ears and fingers and toes.

So it looks like for the next few days I’ll be bouncing off walls and babbling away at all hours of the night.  Should be an interesting time.