Tonight we took Abigail trick-or-treating, which was hugely exciting. We managed to convince her to ditch the ghost costume with its disconcerting lack of peripheral vision for her fairy princess outfit, and she looked great. (Pictures coming someday -- we really should get a digital camera) She excitedly shouted "Trick or treat!" at the homeowners and fellow candy-hunters alike and left each stoop with either a "Thank you!" or "Happy Halloween!" or "Let's get MORE candy!" We only hit about a dozen houses, after which she cheerfully returned to Nana and Pops' house to enjoy her blue sucker. But next year, man, it's going to be on. I have visions of her taking off down the street and dragging us for blocks ...
The title of this post, though, comes from my trip back to work. I inched back through the neighborhood, scanning the curbs for small flying objects known as children, and then got stuck behind some preteens. Two of them moved over to the middle the road, which would've allowed me to pass, but the other one just waltzed his way down the street, occasionally staggering like a hunchback. He'd fling his candy bag out and twirl around, fully aware of my presence, then take a few teasing steps toward the curb before flailing back out into the street. Stupid kid, I almost called his bluff on one and started to speed up to pass before slamming on the brakes. Well, they finally meandered far enough up a wider stretch of road that I could pass -- at which point I rolled down my window and screeched out in my cold-damaged voice like an old crone "Pay attention to the cars, you kids are going to get hurt!" And of course, the only response my well-intentioned bit of fuddy-duddiness received was cackles of glee that they had ticked off an old person.
Yep, just two more years to 30.
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Welcome to my odditorium, a collection of curiosities made up of snippets about my life and occasional machinations on deeper subjects.
3 comments:
Next year take cold water balloons in a cooler. If you are going to be an "old person" you might as well be a "mean old person."
You should have started on him with the horn, then nudged him with the bumper if he still didn't get it. Um, maybe there's a reason I no longer own a car.
Anyway, your response was a very nice one, showing maturity well beyond your years (heh). If only you had a walking stick to brandish, it would be perfect.
It brings to mind the friend/boss of mine who yelled out his car window to some youngsters strolling along the sidewalk with "fashoinably" (?) sagged trousers a few years back, "Pull up your pants!" It was later he realized (and was told by the friend who was present) that he was, indeed, officially old.
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