Decorate with what's on hand....

My new table centerpiece for the seasons?

It's hip, it's timely, it's modern....it's downright frightening: a pillow case, striped, should you be interested, filled (and I mean filled) with candy. Sure, I did the Initial Purge: we removed everything to which I was allergic.

Four pieces: mounds, mounds, almond joy, mounds.

The freezer is well stocked with snickers, milky way bars, and even minty musketeers, should I feel the need to either break my teeth, or float one in some coffee on the one day I run out of creamer, whipped cream in a can, or ice cream. Seriously, in a pinch, any or all of the above works marvelously. One might assume, having made great strides to empty out the great walloping mound of poorly contained candies, I'd purged a good deal.

It's not good to lie so close to when Santa's coming.

Fox brought home damn near 400 HUNDRED pieces of candy, and that does not include the pieces that were left here after I stayed home to play Happy Door Opening Candy Pusher. I do wonder if it's escaped everyone else's notice that October is National Creepy Pedophile Month, you know, the one's we teach our children to not take candy from ever, and yet, we're quite happy to send them off, to gather gobs of the stuff from folks we may, or may not, know. There could very be a pedophile lurking among us, none of us the wiser, as we were so damn busy buying the freaking candy, two costumes (fucking dog ate the first one) and Exceedrin to get through the night we've totally neglected the most important aspect of Halloween: which creepy guy walking the streets with "kids" is The One?

Of course, since it's me, and I know won't rest until I know, I checked online: nearly fell off my Awaiting For Candy Grabbing Costumed Beings chair when I discovered that not only does one live nearish me?

He. Lives. Here.

Okay, right. Not physically in my house. Honestly, I may have dated a few suspects in the past, some with downright dubious histories....but Gosh, that's been years and an entire continent away at this point. To find out that one moved back in with his mother - and off on a tangent here, I totally understand the I Love My Child Unconditionally, but I draw the line at molesting anyone - then? You're dead to me, and on your own, bucko. So, a, I'm shocked, but sort of impressed, that she allowed him to move back in, and downright freaked out to realize he lives, like, within walking distance of me.

My child is adorable. People tell me that, unbidden, all the time. I needn't fish for compliments for him; myself, perhaps, but then, really, I've spent 35 years attempting to tame hair with the same personality as me: feisty, fabulous, and a wee touch fragile. My child's friends? Equally adorable. In fact, I'm hard pressed to come up with an unattractive child I know. So to let this guy saunter back into his mothers house, be pressed to her breast with maternal concern? Makes all the hair on my legs stand on end. (currently, that might frighten the hardiest of souls - it's been cold out!) He could have been in a costume himself, looming, lurking....I can't think of another scary word starting with l....right up close and personal with our children.

This, uh, doesn't really answer my questions about what on Earth to do with the candy that I may indeed, hang onto, and pass out again next year - I know for a fact one of the other mother's did this. Oh, I'm not judging, don't misunderstand, but the packaging had that slightly smashed, sort of well handled look to it that a tampon gets when left in a handbag too long. In my bag, sadly, the tampons no longer even sport the protective plastic coating - Pucker just adores the plastic. I don't ask why any longer. I try to recall to put my handbag up on the table.

Which is the LAST PLACE EVER it should be, as do you have any clue how many germs are on the bottom of a handbag? We put them on the floor of our cars, the floors of restaurants, cabs, the subway, a bus, in the uncleaned totally germ infested carts at the market. I've popped mine on the floor of a ladies room stall, the sink shortly thereafter; airline carpeting, diaper changing fold outs...places we'd never go without shoes, and yet, we don't think twice about swinging the old bag up onto the counter where we prep food.

Wait, I dry heaved. I think my bag is on the kitchen counter as I write.

I'm so going to have to move that.

Passing by the dining room table, I snuck another peek at the Bag o' Candies; perhaps, with a little strategic, artful presentation, I could pass it off as a holiday decoration all the way through Easter. Better yet, I'll host a martini party, forcing upon everyone a well presented goodie bag, they'll assume holds perhaps, fancy orange peel filled olives, or peppered baby onions; when they look inside?

That's right. They'll find malt balls and lolly's, candy bars out their ears, enough crappy mass produced and possibly year old chocolate to kill a larger than normal sized horse.

Now, if I can simply find candles to match that pillow case........