2010-10-25

Halloween Hierarchy

In preparation for our First Halloween In The 'Burbs, we purchased three giant bags of candy. We are not sure, at this point, if we have over-purchased. Because, see, for the last 13 years we've lived in urban, "edgy" neighborhoods where no small children dare to tread. Now we're on a tree-lined street in a suburb north of Boston (granted, we're also within walking distance of a nudie bar, lest anyone think we've completely lost our edge). We could get throngs of wee ones in adorable fuzzy-wuzzy costumes, or we could get a couple of sullen teens in egg-splattered black hoodies. We have no idea how this will go.

At any rate, one thing is certain, if we are to be respected in our new neighborhood, we need GOOD candy. Because while I will admit that it's certainly tempting to take the cheap route and buy the 4/$1.00 bags of Starlight Mints, let's face it: that's Funeral Home Candy. That's the candy you scramble for in the bottom of your purse when the doorbell rings and you remember: "CRAP! I forgot to buy Halloween candy!" That's the candy in the bowl covered with a sticky layer of dust next to the framed picture of some uncle who died 50 years before you were born on top of the buffet at your Auntie Gail's house, the one that's offered to you like it's some kind of great treat. You may as well shut off the porch light, hide in the back bedroom, and pretend to not be home if that's what you're handing out. Seriously.

I am not so old that I have forgotten about the hierarchy - if you will - of Halloween handouts. From "Wicked Awesome" to "Prepare To Be Egged," it goes something like this:

Reese's Peanut Butter Cups
Butterfingers
Snickers
Kit Kats
Almond Joys
Milky Ways
M&Ms
Skittles
Twizzlers
Mounds
Junior Mints
Laffy Taffy
Baby Ruths
Smarties
Dum Dums
Pennies
Raisins
Toothbrushes

You can certainly challenge me, but I'm 99.9973% confident that this is the way it goes. Because while I, for one, have never been a big fan of Butterfingers, I remember that these were quite valuable in the inevitable post-game trade-off. And then, obviously, the full-size version of any major candy bar trumps all. I have heard tell of nebulous "rich houses" whose occupants hand these out, but I certainly never encountered them during my trick-or-treating days, in the same way that I never got a suspicious-looking apple.

What I would EVENTUALLY like to do is be the Cool Weird Neighbor who turns the house into a miniature Haunted Mansion. In order to get that Butterfinger, kid, you're gonna have to take a cruise around my creepy, dry-ice-and-plastic-spider-infested basement. Oogie boogie!

lisamcc at 3:48 p.m.



2 comments so far
Jess
2010-10-26 14:26:28
I WAS that cool/weird neighbor! People used to shit themselves on Halloween night over our house. We have about 7 boxes of Halloween stuff that we cart around during each of our moves. I miss it!
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Mike
2010-10-28 02:26:57
You grew up in Hingham and never once got a full-size? Weak. We had a plan of hitting up the eldery people who lived really far away from anyone (and you've seen where I grew up), inevitably getting a full-size out of the deal. Candybars never tasted as good as those. Also go to the 3:10 mark: http://comedians.jokes.com/patton-oswalt/videos/patton-oswalt---dave-burbank/
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