These are the salad days. When a raw and wet October gives way to a brilliant autumnal crispness, perfect for weekend jags on the hog (which will hereinafter be referred to as "hogjags"). When a voter-fatigued city can look forward to Election Day, and the end of all the pointless electioneering for a mayoral race that might make Reagan/Mondale look competitive. And when a child can respond to the umpteenth stranger's compliment on his Godzilla costume (which his genius mother made for him) by saying "No, dammit, I'm a dinosaur!"
On Monday the four of us went to a local Halloween pageant, during which Robert enjoyed the following loop of activities:
- Stand in line for 10 minutes.
- Enjoy moderate success at a game of skill or chance.
- Receive a cubic foot of motley sugarstuffs.
- Pitch a little woo (pictured).
- Repeat until woozy.
Foolishly, Robert entrusted us with his stash, from which my wife and I immediately extracted our 10% tariff. He's since forgotten all about it, so that tariff is now at around 60%. And climbing.
