Occasionally some event will transpire in which my reaction to said event reveals I am still adjusting to happy suburban living. These are more often the little moments than the big ones or tiny little fractions of bigger things than show that I still need a keeper. One such happening took place this morning.
Our neighborhood has a tradition wherein, every Halloween, there is a chance you might get Boo’d. This isn’t everyone in a two block radius gathering around your townhouse with LED Coleman Lanterns seven irons, the suburban version of torches and pitchforks, and loudly calling for your removal from the Home Owners Association, as I first thought when C mentioned it to me. Instead, it’s a rather nice little holiday tradition wherein people leave bags full of Halloween decorations and candy on your front door. They leave a note telling you that you have been visited by the (Name of our development) Ghost and have been Boo’d. They do not leave their name. Your job, as a responsible member of the community, is to reciprocate, to make your own bag of holiday swag and leave it anonymously outside someone else’s door. Sort of a Halloween chain letter.
Think about it. Its people, with no expectation of recognition or reward doing something nice for someone who lives by them. The bag on our front lawn, a nice little gift bag with a Halloween motif, had two cool cups in the shape of a skull and a Jack O’Lantern, some candy, a Halloween notepad and some glow in the dark decorations. Somebody went out of their way to be nice, which is amazing. I sort of missed the point.
“This is cool,” I said, looking at the stuff spread out on the island in our kitchen. “You know what we should do?”
“What?” responded C.
“We should get a Halloween bag like this one and get a couple of Halloween-y things, like a little gourd or some candy or fake spiders and spider-webs. Then we go to the supermarket and ask the butcher guy for a bag of cow parts. You know, entrails and organs and what not. Then we put THAT at the bottom of the bag with all of the nice stuff on top. So, like, they get the bag and are all like ‘oh, how nice’ and then the take the top layer of cool stuff off and it’s like….SURPRISE! GUTS!”
C stared at me. Silently. The silence stretched on for a good while.
“Cause…it’s Halloween,” I floundered, “and…it…would…be…funny.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” asked C.
Reasonably, in retrospect.