What better way to kick off a month of Blopping than to give a quick recount of Halloween?
Months ago, Robert decided he wanted to be a race-car driver. So Moxie found him a track suit with billions of little advertising patches on it, and I helped pimp his ride to look like Lightning McQueen. TwoBert, content to be an accessory, toddled alongside dressed as a checkered flag.
The first stop was an all-out sugar orgy over at Stuyvesant Town, where hundreds of little kids got hopped up on candy bars and waited until the early cover of night to run away from their harried parents. Then we trick-or-treated through our friends' building, and the boys showed off their very diverse approaches.
Robert really loved pretending his bike could go Mach 5, but when it came time to knock on doors his heart was never in it. He kind of sat to the side and rolled his eyes while the candy was handed out, as if begging strangers for Fun-Sized Butterfingers was somehow demeaning. (This is my influence, I'm afraid, since on the whole I've always thought that Halloween is a pretty retarded concept.)
Conversely, this was TwoBert's first Halloween on two legs, and he made the most of it. At the first couple of doors, he ran right past the candy bowls and made himself comfortable in people's living rooms. Then, after he caught on that candy was being dispensed, he started greeting people at their doors and giving his candy to them.
Despite these false starts, both boys took down a major haul before we headed back home, plastic pumpkins hanging off the back of our stroller like a pair of majestic, candy-filled testicles.
And what Halloween would be complete without stopping by the Casa de Freakshow? Pretty tame, really. Just a dummy of Col. Sanders covered in blood, holding a dead, plucked chicken in one hand and a bucket with "Unhappy Meal" written on it in the other.
Oh, and a sign saying "WELCOME TRICK-OR-TREATERS!"
We passed.
