Trick-o-treat!

Yesterday was Halloween.

Not that we celebrate it here in Australia. Well, not with any conviction. As I was arriving home last night, at around 6:30pm, there were two kids with "Allens Lollies" bags knocking door to door in a very half-arsed attempt at trick-or-treating. Not only were they not in anything that even remotely resembled a costume, when they knocked on the door they vaguely thrust the (Allens Sponsored) bag at the unsuspecting home occupant with an air of what could have been disinterest, I guess assuming they need not utter a word to receive the expected booty of lollies.

I suppose I DO live in the inner Sydney suburbs, and therein breeds a certain level of inherent arrogance.

As I've got a reputation to maintain as being a cranky old woman in number 35 (not bad for someone at the ripe old age of 34 years), I didn't give them any treats (for chrissakes, they could have thrown a white sheet over their heads and pulled off a semi-reasonable ghost, or at the very least, a dodgy KKK member) and wasn't able to think quick enough to come up with a suitably respectable trick.

So we're both screwed in the Halloween stakes.

Then just after 9:30 there was a loud crash at the front door. Upon investigation, it turned out to be a trio of ghouls screaming TRICK OR TREAT!!!! Which instantly put me into a panic, because I didn't actually think I had anything to give them, apart from some tins of flavoured tuna in the cupboard. Luckily I remembered a ratty old back of candy left over from last year's trip to the States. Sure they'd be fairly crusty and old, but would kids really care that much? Or more importantly, be able to deduce who off-loaded the crappy old has-been chocolates? It was American chocolate, which is quite hideous in comparison to our Cadbury Dairy Milk blocks. To give you an idea of how just disgusting it is, even my stoner friend turned his nose up to it on a number of occasions when gripped by the throes of an extreme munchies attack.

At least the house didn't get egged I guess. And maybe I'm just pissed I didn't think to dig out my funky black witches hat that I bought last year in Vegas, complete with the lovely tresses of plastic black hair and interspersed with streaks of flashing red optic fibre strands.