Now hiring: Halloween Greeter

Growing up, I would never have imagined it. But we are… that house.

We are the Halloween dark house. With the lights off and the blinds drawn. There is no pumpkin on the porch, and no ghosts hanging from the railings. From the street, all signs point to “no candy here, just move along”.

Does this make me feel good? No. Do I feel like a monster? Yes. And not one of those cool monsters.

The first year we lived here, I had excuses. We had just moved in. We barely had our couch uncovered, and carving a pumpkin was just not in the cards. This year, I got nuthin. I am just That Mean Lady.

It’s not that I begrudge the kids their candy. Especially given my own Halloween candy deprivation history. Long (childhood trauma) story short: our parents were health food hippies, and Halloween equaled collecting for Unicef and (where available) small boxes of Sunmaid raisins. My poor brother was left with a lifelong addiction to chocolate-covered almonds — a Sisyphean attempt to fill the sugar-shaped hole.

It’s just that I don’t want to be the one to give the kids candy. If I could leave a feeding trough of chocolate goodies at the foot of the stairs, I would. But the idea of doing the whole “oh aren’t you a cute little… whatever” makes my eye twitch and my throat close over. I was the greeter for my childhood home for years. And as a barely social creature, I guess that was my limit. I’m out. I don’t especially like kids when they’re not loitering all over my doorstep. Door-to-door solicitors in dress-up.

(As a barely social somewhat-mean creature, the idea of opening the door on an oversized teenager and saying “you’re kidding me, right?” is almost tempting enough to bring me back. Almost.)

Next year, I will try again. And by “try”, I mean try to recruit someone else to “work the door” (payment: all the tiny candy bars you can eat). Then like a patron of the arts (where by “arts” I mean “miniature KitKats”), I will buy the candy, decorate the house with Day of the Dead skeletons, then lie back on my couch watching Buffy Halloween episodes while someone-not-me makes happy sugar-filled memories for small children. Next year.