At Christmas, our true loves give us stuff every day–gold rings, leaping lords and dancing ladies, drummers drumming. Putting aside for just one moment the obvious question–how can we afford to feed and clothe all those artistic vassals?–I can’t help wondering why you just get stuff one day for Halloween, and if you’re a grown-up (note that I didn’t say “adult”) you don’t get much at all, only what you can steal from young relative’s candy bag when they’re sleeping. With that in mind, I”ll be doling out “12 Days of Halloween” gifts from now until the big night–some of it scary, some of it sexy, some silly and some sentimental–which is which, I’ll leave up to interpretation. As usual, most everything has been ruthlessly appropriated via search engine.
So, it’s vital to my family’s well-being to carve a Jack-O-Lantern every year, but none of them have time to help. Three years in a row I’ve sat at the table, elbow deep in pumpkin goop, with a very sharp knife and a very bad attitude, while the women I live with float in and out of the kitchen, keeping a close eye on “our progress.” I feel like freaking Rumpelstiltskin.