No. This bowl is full of oatmeal, you little shit. What do you think? Lights on, woman with the glazed eyes of a Nerds overdose standing on the front porch handing out handfuls, pretending she thinks a University of Minnesota Duluth hockey jersey is actually a costume.
"Which player are you?" I ask, withholding a precious pouch of Fun Dip.
The kid shrugs. Probably never been to a game in his life. Get with the program. Get, at least, into character. Drop the Fun Dip into his pillow case anyway. So he'll leave.
To judge from the random sampling of 100-plus kids who stopped by our house last night, Generation M is a dud. A greedy bunch of sugar fiends who are going to be charged with analyzing my urine samples and listening to my stories about how I came in sixth to last place in a marathon back in two-zero-zero-four.
I gave a kid a Fun Dip. He saw me reach for another to put in his friend's bag. "Do I get another one?" he asked, genuinely confused. I dropped another in his bag.
"Don't tell," I said. "I don't want this porch swamped with your kind."
A girl stood on the steps with her bag open and didn't even look at me. She was monitoring the street when I dropped a mini snickers into her bag. She didn't move. She kept monitoring the street. I dropped another one in the bag. Nothing. Still standing there holding her bag. I added a Three Musketeers. Finally she came to and noticed me. She closed her bag and moved on.
"It's her birthday," her dad said from the sidewalk. "She deserves two."
"It's her birthday," I thought.
Kids, I decided, are cutest when they are about as tall as my knees, packed into outfits that make their arms look like wobbly propellers. One crawled up on the porch wearing blueface. A Tigger did the same, covered in Snickers' face. Chuck almost took out a bumbling ladybug who was trying to get inside the house. I gave a toddler two packs of Nerds. Rookie error.
There was a dog dressed as a geisha.
A girl stopped by holding two sacks.
"I have to carry a bag for my brother," she said.
"Nice scam," I said.
Then I noticed a head floating behind her, seemingly coming from the crotch of a pair of adult overhauls. It looked like his noggin was on a platter, his shoulders ended without a finale. I gave him a bonus Fun Dip for the effort.
"Even better scam," said the woman guiding him around.
By now I've learned a trick of dropping something into their bag without letting them see the loot. The confusion as they try to discern the new item is just too precious.
A teddy bear got a head injury when he turned around, saw a grim reaper and whacked his head on the front door.
I'm a little concerned about the kids who bitch about what you give them as you give it to them. Or the ones who wait for you to drop a York Peppermint Patty and then say "Aw. I wanted that one."
One dad chastised his kids in the nerdiest of ways:
"Come on, guys," he said. "Say 'Thank you' to everyone."
The fatigue set in around 8 p.m. You could see it in the droopy skeleton faces and the slack jaws of goth teens pretending they didn't always dress like this. By then I'd eaten about 19 mini candy bars and was working my way through my fifth carton of Nerds. I was feeling wild-eyed and crazy, hopped up on the good stuff.
"Did Chuck wake up early to pass out candy?" Rad-attack-ack-ack texted me.
"YES IT WAS SO FUN WE HAD ABOUT 100 AND I ATE SO MUCH CANDY," I wrote back.
"You're sugared to high hell," she wrote.
"HOW CAN YOU TELL??!!!" I responded.
"Turbo caps," she said.
"YOU MEAN TURBO CAP'N!" I said, cackling for the next half hour. Turbo Cap'n. It's still funny.