Last night's first trick-or-treater assured me that I'd like to have four or five thousand kids. She was a princess, or a witch, I don't remember because I was so enthralled at her presence. She was adorable, and kept opening her bag to show me the goods she'd received stopping at neighbors' doors. Her mom, waiting nearby, said "If you get too much, I can finish it off," and I replied "Yes, I'm sure your mom wouldn't mind doing that!" She laughed. Camaraderie. "I'm going to have one of these," my response told her, as I cooed over her festively-costumed daughter. Last night was the first in a few years that J and I opted to stay away from the party on Franklin St. and instead spend the holiday at home handing out candy. Tens of thousands of revellers descend upon Chapel Hill's main drag every Halloween. The costumes are outrageous and the bars packed. It's not that I don't like that. It's an incredibly good time. But what with already having attended a party over the weekend, and then the fact that, for instance, I don't have any clothes to wear, because getting to my clothes involves a complicated series of obstacles jumping over extremely expensive china and the kitty litter box to get to the dirty laundry because that's all I have left to wear, well, I figured it would be best to stay at home and work on that situation. Plus, there was a big bag of candy at home. For the kids. Sure. For the kids.

So I decided to make the most of it. I bought a pumpkin and spread out newspapers all over the floor and got to work with a sharp knife. I cut out triangles for the eyes and then when starting on the very creative "O" mouth, because that would be the easiest and fastest I figured, I cut two fingers on my right hand. Sliced 'em right open and had to quickly place two band-aids a piece on each. Since the sun was quickly setting I didn't let the injury deter me from my goal and, once bandaged, went right back in for the finish. I placed a candle in my masterpiece and set it on the front step to beckon the masses.

Last year we had a big Halloween party at the last house we rented. Friends were in town. Friends were sleeping on the couches and in their cars and on the porch. The floor was covered in sticky beer residue and we were covered in sticky beer residue and that didn't stop us from getting some Bojangles biscuits and getting right back to work the next day. We headed out to a bar and then to Franklin St. that night for the annual costume party. The next day at work I wanted to give a severe beating to whoever'd made me think it was an ok to do all those activities involving beer. It wasn't my finest hour.

But see this year, despite the fact that we didn't go out, and whenever I told people we weren't going out, they would reply "Oh, because you're married now?" (sidenote: Don't say that. It's not funny), the holiday was still eventful and even painful. Bloody fingers and dealing with those kids who, when I said, "Oh, take whatever you want!" took just about all the candy...we still enjoyed the holiday. And it's just as hard avoiding the basket of individually-wrapped delectable sweets the next day as it is having a hangover.