And with the deafening shriek of a thousand air horns, curfew has come to River Vale’s Halloween. This year, I was not so much a candy dispensary as I was a candy exchange center.
I knew that I would not be home during peak trick or treat hours, so wanting to be part of the fun and perhaps to protect my house from Eggers and other vandals, I left my giant bowl of candy outside on the wall. I purposely bought candy I don’t like all that much (Nerds, Twizzlers, Swedish Fish, etc.) with the hopes I would not eat any before this pagan festival. (I did anyway.)
When I returned home, I wasn’t sure what to expect of the blue bowl I had so lovingly written “Happy Halloween” on in Sharpie at the last minute. Would the woodland critters have a feast? Would one little fat kid with a pillowcase dump it all into his bag? Have we scared our kids so much they don’t even go out anymore?
What I didn’t expect is to see my bowl now filled with M&Ms, Twix, 100 Grands and all other kinds of deliciousness, tempting me with their fragrance, but giving me pause by their dubious origins. I imagine all kinds of scenarios – did a dog pee on these? Has my growing collection of backyard varmints riffled through here leaving a trail of Lyme disease and rabies? Did the Russians put these here?
Did I buy these? Nyet.
I pause for a moment to make sure that my trip to Costco last week to buy a 50 gallon drum of candy I don’t like (but eat anyway) was not a hallucination. Perhaps I actually did buy this candy and don’t remember, because hey, I’m over 40 and this crap happens sometimes. No. I did not purchase these. I go back into my house and start envisioning what went on here while I was away.
Theory 1: kids who don’t like chocolate exchanged their velvety, succulent morsels for Twizzlers. I can’t even write that with a straight face, because if there is such a person who would voluntarily trade in a Twix bar for a straw-shaped piece of red plastic that tastes like a chemical I certainly do not want to meet him or her.
Theory 2: kids with nut allergies exchanged their peanut M&Ms for Skittles, which I guess is plausible, but wouldn’t that mean the rest of the bowl would now be contaminated by nuts? The allergy kids usually stick together in my experience. (Which is none.)
Theory 3: Russians.
I examine each piece, fondly remembering how my dad would “check” my loot each Halloween, examining for razor blades, and stealing his favorites. Nothing is opened, or smells unsavory, or is wet. I probably should just throw it all out.
The doorbell rings, and my lone trick or treater for the day is a mini Jedi warrior working the neighborhood. By now I’ve sworn myself off of sugar, so I save her dad the trip around the block and stuff the rest of my 50 gallon drum into her bag. She laughs and assures me she’ll be protecting the universe tonight.
I keep thinking about the bowl on the counter. I once had someone leave their garbage on my curb, but this is new. No. It needs to be thrown away, every last Reese’s, every last York Peppermint Pattie, every last Twix. It’s a good thing I convince myself that these sweeties are probably laced with something, else I’d house that 100 Grand. (Which I did anyway.)
Late to the Party 
Save those Yorks for me!