Yesterday was Halloween, which is always fun and always a bit of a madhouse in my neighborhood. We get hundreds of kids at the door, and hundreds of houses to siege down for their sweet, sweet candy.
Alex loves it, and I kind of love it too. I’d love it more if I wasn’t forty years old, 65 pounds overweight, and a maker of bad decisions when it comes to how many layers of warm clothing I need to keep out the chill. Still, this year I found it all especially awesome because I was in a great mood and not exhausted. That’s novel.
She went as a plague doctor this year, and her costume was a solid hit. At the end of her own trick-or-treating expedition, she hung out on the porch in costume to hand out candy for the last half-hour, and had one small child steadfastly refuse to approach her.
If that’s not a good review, I don’t know what is.
My daughter’s awesome. Also? Kind of a smart-ass.
She asked me to order a book for her, the sequel to one she’s already read, and I asked her to write a note with as much information she could give me, so’s I’d be able to find it on Amazon.
This is what she wrote:
Part of me says I ought to try to get her to curb this tendency, but mostly I find it hilarious.