Halloween

I’m light headed, bloated and stumbling around my house……a diabetic coma is coming.

I’ve just raided my kids Halloween stash. Months of healthy eating destroyed in one massive sugar binge. It felt good. Like a quarter pounder with cheese, Big Mac and McChicken sandwhich on the way home from the pub……awesome on the way in.

Halloween. The first year Max (13) decided he couldn’t be bothered.

Zak (11.5) on the other hand, came home with some school friends and spent 3 hours pilfering the good will of 23 suburbs. A raid Viking Ragnor Lothbrok himself would be proud of.

Springing back into the house on his return. High as a kite. A smile from ear to ear. A sack of goodies heaved behind him.

He emptied a mountain of chocolate on the table as he grabbed a beer and cracked it open. Victorious on his return.

But. I do have a problem.

In the 80s to get some treats you had to do a trick. You can’t just rock up say the words and expect a hand out. Can’t just look cute and be rewarded.

No. You needed a joke. A song. A dance. A scary move. Hell, even a decent costume could do it.

Tonight my boy went out in a basketball top. A fucking basketball top. .

“I’m a basketball player dad” he said.

Seriously.

I couldn’t be bothered saying anything. I shrugged the shrug of a weary father and sidled back to my couch. Poured a large scotch and settled in.

It’s the first year we didn’t go all out. Previous years I’ve latexed the hell out of the their faces and spent hours ripping up a t-shirt, rolling it in the mud and crustifying fake blood on them. I’ve screengrabbed countless disgusting horror special effects over the years so that I could dress them up. Professional. Walking Dead-stylee. We’ve carved pumpkins, set up tables out the front and set up lanterns.

But nope. Not this year. Not cool.

Looks like we are done with that part of my children’s growing up.

We had a few people come to our house. “Trick or treat” they smiled with outstretched arm. I resisted the urge to ask for some kind of dance or trick for fear of being branded the “weirdo dad” at the end of street. Instead I handed out treats to random kids, which on any other day would be inappropriate in itself.

Getting my boys to bed proved hard tonight. Mainly because I felt really sick from the 20 Freddos, 6 mini crunchies, some packeted jelly shaped pizza and burgers things and lots of dairy milk mini’s.

The diabetic coma is approaching. The urge to sleep is getting stronger. I might just sneak in a couple more freddo’s before i pass out…..fuck it, might as well go out in style.

 

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