Halloween is not nearly as fun as it used to be. Trick or treating in the daytime? Healthy treats? Ugh. (Somebody dropped organic kale into my grandson Charlie's bucket and I found ground flax seed on the bottom of Princess Hadley's bag.) When my kids were young, I saw it as my duty to scare the living hell out of them. I hid in the linen closet once for two hours practicing my moans. I turned our basement into Mommy's Little House of Horror! Enter if you Dare! And our front yard was a cemetery that was so dead-like that it was featured on the local news. Too much you say? "Child's play," according to my pal, Cindy Turner, who one year sent out invitations to a group of banshees, I mean, misguided middle-school girls, who had been tormenting her eleven-year-old daughter, Amy, for months.
IT'S A HAUNTED HALLOWEEN SLUMBER PARTY! When: October 31 7 P.M. Where: Amy Turner's backyard. What to Bring: Your sleeping bags. The enticing invitation also promised "yummy treats" and "an evening you'll never forget!" What it failed to mention were the high school boys Cindy had hired to dress up as zombies and throw a slab of raw meat into the tent shortly after midnight. The boys were also to make sure that they extracted promises from the mean girls that from then on they'd be so very much nicer to Amy before they agreed to shuffle away into the woods. Ah...the good old days. When treats were sweet, and the tricks scarred you for life.
To whomever finds this: HELP ME. My mind is being held captive by my ex-friend and author, Cathy Lamb, who on a recent phone call growled that if I didn't start "blogging" ASAP...wait...now that I think on this, the connection wasn't that great, so she might've said something threatening about "clogging". Either way, Cathy didn't say exactly what hideousness would befall me, oh, no, she's waaay too crafty for that. She's another writer, she knows whatever threat she could come up with wouldn't be half as scary as what's lurking in the dark side of my brain. Friends know stuff like that about you, don't they. Which is why I try to keep mine to a limit. And why I vet them out for approximately three years before I "share" anything more personal than a piece of pie with them. (Note to self: The friend thing...lengthen that to four, maybe five, years.) So please, if you have a shred of decency, buy her excellent new book, What I Remember Most, or send any change you can scrap together to the FREE LESLEY FROM EITHER BLOGGING OR CLOGGING FUND to her web site, which is here: http://cathylamb.org/ . It is my desperate hope that receipt of your small offerings will persuade her to rescind her nebulous, but decidedly wicked, threat before I find myself investing in a pair of wooden shoes, or in my panicked state, convince myself that you or anybody else would actually give a rat's ass about what's going on in my mind, other than my therapist. (A Word of Caution: Do not be fooled by the cuddly cuteness on Cathy's web site the way I was. Remember the wolf in lamb's clothing story?)