I don’t know about you, but in my religion, yesterday was a holiday. We call it Hall-o-weeeeen.
I’m like the old menus at Taco Bell where they showed you phonetically how to pronounce burrito (burr-eee-toe).
Some of my coworkers dressed up, as we have a costume contest that I 100% missed because I got distracted. Someone sent me a message wanting to have a meeting, and I said, “Wait, won’t people be at the contest?” with my rapier-sharp org skills and the messenger with wings on his heels that they send from person to person at work and we really need a more modern system said, “The contest happened at 2:00, June.”
So I missed that, as I was hiding in a room in an empty part of the building in order to, oh, work and not hear, “OH MY GOD YOUR CAT EARS ARE SO CUTE” ninety-hundred times.
I’m not sure when I became a curmudgeon.
Anyway. Later in the day people’s kids came and I gave them all candy and while I know I am a bit of a
about children, I always enjoy them in real life when they come for Halloween. Plus also at this point I have seen some of these families for 9 Halloweens, so you get attached.
So that part was fun. That part of what we call in my religion Hollll-oh-weeeen was fun.
Then I went home.
I’m working on this huge overwhelming project that is due by the end of today and it’s huge and overwhelming, did I mention? So I took it home to look at for awhile last night, thinking trick-or-treaters (in my religion, part of the celebrations of this holiday is you go door to door dressed in disguise and get candy) would taper off by 8:00.
“TRICK OR TREAT!” some girl child was at my door dressed in something spooky and all black with red-lit eyes, and at this point kids are generally wearing things I don’t understand. “It’s from the movie Hooo de Hizzle,” parents will explain. “Haven’t you seen it?” they ask, assuming everyone stampedes off to kid movies if they don’t have to. Then there’s the inevitable,
“They make it so adults like it too.”
Anyway, she tricked and she treated and took just one polite piece of candy and that always kills me when kids do that. Take a handful! We live once.
I was just settling down to a funny text from my friend Lilly, who sent this:
Oh my god, this KILLS me. If you knew her kids, these costumes are so them.
The other good news is, they’re keeping the pig. The people whose pig it was never came for him, which, really? So even though they don’t really NEED a pig, they HAVE a pig, and if they’d have taken me up on saying yes I want that pig I’d be writing you a whole special pig post RN. But they have an actual, you know barn and barn food and land and so on, so they get to keep the pig. Damn.
The point is, I was doing that when
EEEEEeeeeeee! My phone screeched at me.
TORNADO WARNING, it read. SEEK COVER IMMEDIATELY, it said.
I knew we were gonna have rain, and I was pursing my lips over kids not coming despite the rain, but a tornado? Really? In October? …Really?
Right then the wind picked up.
WOOOOooooooo! said the wind, and my hanging porch plants began dancing, which is never a good sign.
So I did what any normal person would do. I gathered ye rosebuds and also my 40 pets, and we went to the sort of hallway in the middle of the house. It’s just the spot where the rooms meet up, it’s not really a hallway, but there are no windows there.
All the cats dispersed immediately and ran under things, which I figured was better than being out and about.
Eds, however, stayed glued to my person.
WoooooOOOOOoooo, said the wind. And right then I realized I was scared. Naturally I called my mother, because I’m an adult 54-year-old.
“I wish you had a basement,” said my mother. Everyone in Michigan has a basement and nowhere else that I’ve lived has them.
Seattle? Too rainy.
LA? You get crushed by an earthquake.
Here? I don’t rightly know why, but basements aren’t so plentiful. And everyone in Michigan just assumes you have a basement, by the way. It’s just a given there. When I moved away, I thought, where do teenagers go to make out if there are no basements?
“June’s having a tornado, so I’m going to stay on the phone with her,” announced my mother, who forever has 200 people in her house, and if I had visitors coming in and out the whole time like she does I’d have thrown myself head first into the wind.
“Did she get in the basement?” one of her Michigan friends asked.
So we stayed on the phone so she could hear her only child die in a tornado, but in fact it didn’t happen, and no house landed on me and my striped socks, and then finally they called off the dogs.
“Are you okay?” texted my neighbor on the next block, as if a twister had touched down over here but not there.
So that put the kibosh on Halloween, and to tell you the truth I was kind of scared. I know we’re supposed to be scared on Halloween but that wasn’t the good kind of scared. Yeesch.
I will leave you with a more pleasant story, and that is this:
Ned texted this photo from his abode, of Snowflake (now Sidney), Nancy, and the photo of NedKitty I gave him, all arranged on the shelf. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned I love Snowflake so bad, I do. She’s going to be magnificent-looking. I mean, she already is. But she’s going to be an impressive cat, and poor squat Nancy has to deal with that all her life.
All right, I’m gonna blow out of here. BAH.
Putting on my Helen Hunt tank top,
P.S. Did you know you don’t have to leave a name or email address to comment? I’m not blowing smoke!