While I was packing to move home to Minneapolis, my mom was packing to move to Savannah. “You’ve got a bunch of stuff in the basement,” she said. “I can drop it off at your new place, but I don’t know what you want. Like, Halloween decorations?”
“You still have my Halloween decorations?” I cried.
This weekend, Paige and I decided to decorate the apartment for Halloween. We pulled out the cardboard box she’d set aside for us: skeleton lights, skull lights, pumpkin lights. A rubber spider on a string. A wicker witch I’d purchased in my questionable tastes phase. A red light bulb, some clay pumpkins we’d made and painted as kids.
“My Halloween tree!” I hooted.
“Tra la la la, decorating the Halloween tree,” I sang from the living room floor. “Tra la la la, little ghost ornament on the Halloween tree.”
“You need to settle down,” Paige said.
Okay, I confess: the above kitty is new, purchased a couple of months ago at Michael’s. (Like, in August. I walked through the inappropriately early Halloween section on my way to the frames and was blinded by its beautiful purple light, enchanted by its wee dumb eyes. I stopped in my tracks. “SOLD,” I said to no one in particular.) And I still need a paper jointed skeleton for our door. We’ve netflixed Tales From the Crypt, season 3. Who’s coming over for cider?