Last year, after our neighborhood candy haunt, Megan seriously pronounced she wanted to be Elvis for next year's trick-or-treating. I shrugged and said sure, knowing she'd change her mind more than a few times between then and now.
But she didn't. (She had put a sign on her door several months ago that said: "Warning! You are entering the Land of Rock en Roll - Elvis and Megan.")
So this year our three little monkeys dressed up as a funky cat, a bat, and Elvis. Colleen went off with a gaggle of fifth graders, storming the streets and intimidating the neighbors with the power of their volume. We avoided the massive fifth grade locust cloud and hit some alternate streets that looked as if they had choice houses. Although the night wasn't as cold as I had expected, it was still chilly enough to make my hands numb (and it forced me to keep my coat zipped up, so no one could appreciate my ironic orange shirt that had this one it: I'm scarier with no costume, which was just as well because every single one of Colleen's friends who saw me in that shirt gave me the same retort - "Well, that's true." That's some harsh elementary school humor, yet I am a stronger man for it.)
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