Broke Wife, Big City
The trick-or-treater always rings twice
By Aprill Brandon

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, dark and sprinkling a little bit. But that annoying kind of sprinkle that gets your clothes all soggy.

It was quiet inside the house. Perhaps a bit too quiet. Well, not really too quiet. I mean, the TV was on. And for some reason the fridge always emitted a high-pitch squeal that could be heard throughout the rest of the house. But everyone ignored that sound because it probably meant the fridge was on its last legs and honestly, who can afford a new fridge in this economy, am I right?

And on the couch sat two nervous creatures. One wide-eyed and tense because she knew what was coming. The other wide-eyed and tense because he didn't know what was coming but since she was acting weird, he felt there was no time like the present to also act weird. So while she absent-mindedly picked at her nail polish and cast furtive glances in his direction, he awkwardly climbed on her lap, not really sitting and not really standing, but nonetheless blocking the TV from her view anyway.

They sat this way as agonizing minutes ticked by.

Tick.

Tick.

High pitched squeal from fridge.

Tick.

And then, just when she thought they might have lucked out this year, thought that maybe by some miracle the porch light burned out, it happened. The very thing she had been dreading.

"Ding-dong!"

And that's when all hell broke loose. Before she could stop him, he launched his (freakishly strong, by the way) 30-pound body like a rocket off her lap, hitting the floor mid-stride and doing a Scooby-Doo scramble around the corner of the coffee table until he reached the door at the top of the stairs, barking and howling the entire time like the neighborhood feral cats had finally gotten organized and were attacking the house en masse.

She, meanwhile, started calmly yelling at him to "shut the hell up!" while simultaneously trying to push him back from the door at the top of the stairs so she could squeeze her unwieldly pregnant frame through. This was followed by trying to close said door as he repeatedly launched his entire (still freakishly strong) body at any and all openings. After finally getting the door shut and ignoring the desperate sounds of him now throwing his entire (made stronger by his panic) body at the closed door, she made her way as quick as she could (which wasn't very quick at all considering a tiny human had taken over her entire torso) down the stairs to the front door, which she threw open to some very startled trick-or-treaters and tried to breathlessly yell "Happy Halloween!" over the clamor of what probably sounded to a small child like a dog getting murdered.

Luckily, the little kids who didn't burst into tears at the sight and sound of a crazed dog and even more crazed and out-of-breath and red-faced pregnant woman, got their candy (name brand, of course, because said pregnant woman felt bad for putting them through all that trauma just for a bite-sized, knock-off Twix) and went on their merry way, no more worse for the wear.

And then she slowly went back up the stairs, back to him, he who had finally stopped barking and was enthusiastically wagging his tail like "gee, wasn't THAT fun!?". They sat back down on the couch together, he once again not quite sitting, not quite standing on her lap, she once again not able to see the TV.

And they both breathed a sigh of relief.

Which was quickly followed by another "Ding-dong!"
Repeat 27 more times.

The moral of this story, kids? Appreciate your Halloween candy. Treasure it. And try to remember through the fog of your sugar-induced mania followed by sugar-induced coma the sacrifices some of us adults had to make to ensure that that candy got into your little hands.

Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?

Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/