First of all, thank you all so much for your thoughts and prayers regarding all the waste that dominates my existence. We have taken steps to "Tear Down This Wall (of Stink)," like banning all wet cat food, for one. That stuff was putrescent enough on the way in, for Chrissakes. And we'd like to get one of those enclosed crudbunker domes, but the only place our catbox fits in our whole entire apartment is under the bathroom sink, and the drainpipe hangs down too low for anything over eight inches tall to fit. So we soldier on and make do, while all those around us make doo-doo.
And as for Halloween, there isn't much to tell. Robert's latest obsession is with Spider-Man (which is why I have to lay my hands on a pair of these), but he picked his costume before he knew they made them with huge fake biceps and whatnot. So when we went out on Wednesday he insisted on stuffing his sleeves with a bunch of my socks. TwoBert was a Two-Eyed, No-Horned, Flightless Purple People-Biter, which was basically a homemade suit made with shaggy, purple fabric that 1) was darling as hell and 2) shed like a fothermucker.
We went to a neighborhood party that spiraled quickly into mayhem. The field was crowded and muddy, and within seconds the boys sped off in opposite directions. Robert hooked up with his friends , who immediately began knocking each other over, and TwoBert fled to the dance floor to rock out to "Monster Mash." We got some candy, a moderate haul, but soon it was time to flee, our muddy socks leaking out of our wristholes.