None of that on the cheap crap in the orange and black wax wrappers from our house, none of that economy size jumbo bag of Dum Dum suckers that you can get a gazillion to a bag for less than 5 bucks, oh no, not here.
We have to offer up the premium chocolate brand name goodies, and let's not forget the possible nut, gluten etc....allergy plagued children, she has a spare tub of none edibles on the chance some child dares to walk up our drive toting that now famous blue plastic pumpkin.
Halloween pencil erasers, stickers and tattoos, you name it, and she's tossed it in that "special" bucket.
She happily waits by the door to stay on the ready to hand out her goodies. If you come up the drive, no matter your age, if you have a bag, or a bucket, or any container, or even a pocket, you'll be rewarded for your efforts. If I dare to whisper any comment pertaining to the ages of some of these festive visitors, I get the stink eye followed up with the don't be a scrooge lecture.
In my defense, for the most part I'm really not a scrooge, but what does kind of get under my skin is when grown women come walking up to our door pushing a sleeping baby in a stroller that appears to be 3 or 4 months old and has no other children with her and has the nerve to knock at the door and hold open a sack and look me in the eye and say trick or treat. Then the lady whips out a second sack and begins to explain that sack #2 belongs to a sibling at home that is under the weather. Do I really believe for a minute that her baby less than 5 months old will be gnawing on the snickers bar I just put in her bag, not for a minute.
After bag #2 is gifted a treat and the lady leaves, my wife begins the numerous possible scenarios that may bring a grown woman to our door trick or treating, asking for candy. I smile and bite my tongue and agree with her and admire her loving and giving heart, as I try to forget the image of the stroller pushing woman with her beautifully manicured 2 inch nails, and her $1000.00 iPhone laying inside the stroller next to the sleeping baby, as she walks away in her dusty pink Bondi shoes.
I love my wife, she's a keeper!