The Year With No Halloween

This year we had no Halloween.

Yes, of course, the calendar provided us with an actual October 31 and, technically, it was Halloween for a period of 24 hours but our normally festive roads, streets and lanes were silent and pitch black.

Traditionally in our little town, all who wish to receive trick-or-treaters flip on their front light and are prepared with mountains of candy.

My neighborhood is particularly busy because, in this semi-rural community, the houses are often spread apart, secluded or hidden atop twisting driveways but the homes here are more accessible and closer together.

Not expecting the horrific snowstorm that befell us so unseasonably, I did what I always do: I bought enormous amounts of Halloween candy.

I go for a wide variety of the "fun" size candy bars and love hitting the stores, grabbing whatever strikes my fancy--emptying it all into a giant basket and sampling one of each as I go.

 

This year was a little different as I exhibited unusual will power due to my enormous ass and was somehow able to resist temptation. I ate nothing.

It was a Halloween miracle. 

I also counted on all the candy being distributed--planning to increase the amounts tossed into the plastic pumpkins and pillowcases as the evening wound down so there would be nothing left to tempt me. 

So, when it was established that Halloween would be skipping our town due to the power outage -- a blow of biblical proportion for the local vampires, hobos, ninjas and Princesses Jasmine -- and we shivered in the darkness of our freezing homes, the candy remained in its basket, uneaten.

Candy. Basket. Remained. Candy. Uneaten.

In recognition of the inevitable, I begged Seth to hide it.

By the second day, I started to look for it.

By the sixth day, I was at my wits end. Sometimes I'd catch a whiff on Seth's breath or the hair on the back of my neck would stand if I was getting close to the stash but I simply could not find it. 

Where in the name of Dr. Oz and his purple gloves was it?

Immensely impressed by Seth's accomplishment, successfully separating me -- a woman born with a shnoz designed to sniff out chocolate like a bloodhound tracks a scent -- from a massive hoard of delicious calories, I silently praised him despite my impulse to press a steak knife to his throat until he told me where it was. My pride kept me under control.

This is a huge aberration because I normally have absolutely no pride, whatsoever. I'm not even sure what the word means.

Defeated and confused, I ceased to search.

While I sensed the palpable presence of miniature Snickers, Milky Ways and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, I gave up. Mistaking self control for weakness, victory for defeat, sanity for blippity bloppity, I fell into bed with neither chocolate in my tummy nor joy in my heart.

I was Napoleon facing his Waterloo...Caesar, wounded by Cleopatra's rejection...any one of the Kardashian sisters faced with a two syllable word...

Well, I just found the candy.

Hidden in plain sight, it was in a closet that was so obvious that I never thought to look there. Upon inspection, I could tell that Seth had made inroads with the tiny Almond Joys and the baby Butterfingers. Sifting the remainder through my fingers, I could smell the nougat and caramel through their flimsy wrappers, detect their fat content and analyze the list of ingredients with just a sniff of my generous, candy-loving nose.

I will bag them tomorrow and have Seth take it all to work since I am not in the least concerned about the blood sugar levels and inevitable diabetic comas of his co-workers.

I did unwrap one Baby Ruth, though. Sniffing it like one might a fine cigar, I inhaled the aroma but then tossed it out of the slider into the snow from whence it could not be retrieved at 3 am.

The holy grail of Halloween candy.

Unless Seth has counted every piece in the basket, which is entirely possible, he will never miss it.