It’s almost Halloween and you know what that means, right? A dissertation on how morally corrupt it is that we spend millions of dollars on costumes and candy each year (plus another several million in the subsequent dental procedures) in order to facilitate our celebrating the Celtic/Pagan-rooted “holiday” that stands firmly against most of the American ideals we assumed as our own the moment we took that first oath.
I, for one, am already stocking up on candy corn but I don’t think this year it will really feel like Halloween until I see my wallet’s value depreciate $400 in the name of an orange suede pumpkin that may or may not moonlight as a clutch (it’s Charlotte Olympia‘s world, folks, we just live in it).
…So, yeah, that’s where I’m at on this lovely Monday morning at 9AM. Looks like I’m forgoing the trip to Ricky’s that got me a husband in the first place once again. (Confused? This would make sense if you’d have read my book, dammit.)