11.01.2008
Halloween Drama 2001
I check on Mychael, who’s sitting on the front porch handing out free food to the treaters. I fill up his bowl with the remaining candy and resume my cleaning efforts. While I’ve already “passed” the home inspection, I still want the house to be as clean as possible when the social worker arrives. You never know when a dirty rug could end up being a deal breaker.
I’m vacuuming when I hear pounding on the front door. Confused, I open it. “Trick or treat,” a handful of treaters scream, holding their bags, plastic pumpkin buckets and in some cases, bare paws toward my face. I look at the porch and note that Mychael isn’t sitting where I left him. I walk out farther and don’t see him anywhere in the vicinity of 3365 Meridian Avenue. I watch as an even larger mob of candy hunters walk up the driveway. I suddenly remember that I gave Mychael the last of the candy.
I panic. “Hey…my son had the bowl of candy, and I don’t know what happened to him,” I explain, backing away slowly.
They stare back: Less talk, more candy, bitch.
I dash back into the house and dig through the cupboards until I locate the snacks designated for Mychael’s lunches. I grab five Little Debbie Nutter Butters, four Rice Krispie Treats and an unopened twelve pack of Kudos before returning to the unruly crowd that has assembled on the front porch. I dispense the goods before slamming the front door and shutting off all the lights.
I’m going to kill him.
This is the kind of passive aggressive stuff that Mychael likes to pull when he’s upset about something and usually, I’m sympathetic. However tonight, I’m not in the mood. For God's sake, there are candy hunting children crawling the neighborhoods!
I call Mychael's friend Andrew to see if he's seen him. He doesn’t answer, which tells me that Mychael must be with him since Andrew always answers his cell phone when I call. For the hell of it, I try his friend Jessie, whom I like to call Jessica, and have no luck with him either. I draw no conclusions regarding the fact that he doesn’t answer, as he’s still mad at me for changing his name to Jessica.
I’m vacuuming when I hear pounding on the front door. Confused, I open it. “Trick or treat,” a handful of treaters scream, holding their bags, plastic pumpkin buckets and in some cases, bare paws toward my face. I look at the porch and note that Mychael isn’t sitting where I left him. I walk out farther and don’t see him anywhere in the vicinity of 3365 Meridian Avenue. I watch as an even larger mob of candy hunters walk up the driveway. I suddenly remember that I gave Mychael the last of the candy.
I panic. “Hey…my son had the bowl of candy, and I don’t know what happened to him,” I explain, backing away slowly.
They stare back: Less talk, more candy, bitch.
I dash back into the house and dig through the cupboards until I locate the snacks designated for Mychael’s lunches. I grab five Little Debbie Nutter Butters, four Rice Krispie Treats and an unopened twelve pack of Kudos before returning to the unruly crowd that has assembled on the front porch. I dispense the goods before slamming the front door and shutting off all the lights.
I’m going to kill him.
This is the kind of passive aggressive stuff that Mychael likes to pull when he’s upset about something and usually, I’m sympathetic. However tonight, I’m not in the mood. For God's sake, there are candy hunting children crawling the neighborhoods!
I call Mychael's friend Andrew to see if he's seen him. He doesn’t answer, which tells me that Mychael must be with him since Andrew always answers his cell phone when I call. For the hell of it, I try his friend Jessie, whom I like to call Jessica, and have no luck with him either. I draw no conclusions regarding the fact that he doesn’t answer, as he’s still mad at me for changing his name to Jessica.
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