Halloween is near. I can always tell how close it is by the amount of miniature chocolate bars I’ve consumed. And since the empty wrapper to unopened candy ratio is about a bazillion to one, I’m certain the day is upon us.

I should stop buying the treats ahead of time, but that would be a waste of the incredible talent I have for extracting the bars through a tiny, inconspicuous slit in the seam of the bag.

Now as I sit and survey the paltry remainders of this once hefty stash, it seems my house is destined to be toilet papered. Note to self: Don’t try to stomp out any flaming bags that land on the porch.

In a last ditch effort to save my front door from the egg barrage, I head for the store. Considering there is still a day or so before the actual trick-or-treating begins, I remain optimistic. Surely a bag of Milky Ways awaits me on the shelf.

Alas, the candy aisle is bare. As are the toilet paper and shaving cream aisles. I’m sensing defeat here, but I’m not ready to surrender. I search for alternatives.
Among the scattered remnants on the seasonal shelves there lies a crushed box of Halloween string lights, a box of marshmallow “pumpkin” peeps and a few rogue pieces of candy corn. I toss the peeps into my basket. No, they won’t satisfy the dozens of Hannah Montanas and Harry Potters who excitedly ring my bell and request a cavity enhancing delight. But they will serve as a sweet snack for me on the drive home from the store.

I know what you’re thinking, “Haven’t you had enough candy?”

Define enough, I retort. I’ve never been able to. Perhaps I’d be better off putting my own plastic pumpkin on the porch along with a sign that reads: I ate all the candy. I have no self control. Please be so kind as to leave a donation towards my Weight Watchers registration fee.

Maybe I don’t have to give out candy at all. Perhaps some paper goods or stationary products will do. That big box of Crayolas could divide up nicely. I could tie a couple of crayons together with some lovely orange and black ribbon….Oh who am I trying to kid? Some poor kid will wind up with the crappy colors and we’re right back where we started, first in line for the shaving cream paint job.

Ready to resign to the inevitable, I take comfort in the few pieces of candy that still remain at home. Hey, as long as we’re doomed, I can go ahead and eat those, too. I’m already imagining their chocolatey goodness when I spot a glimmer of hope. Back at the seasonal aisle, a stock boy is reloading the shelves. “I’m saved! “ I think (or shout out loud, but who’s really listening anyway?).

I trot on over to get a glimpse of the goodies, visions of butterfingers dancing through my head. I nearly crash into the cart of boxes. The stock boy raises his eyebrows and sighs, shaking his head and returning to his task of filling the space with wrapping paper, ribbons, cards and gifts – a merry assortment of holiday items for a holiday that has nothing to do with ghosts and goblins and everything to do with the fat jolly guy in the red suit.

I beg the stock boy to check the boxes, perhaps a bag of mini crunch bars remains.

On the drive home, I eat three rows of peeps. Rustling in the seat next to me is my offering for the pending trick-or-treaters, a box of one hundred individually wrapped candy canes.

I left the store without purchasing toilet paper. I figure we will just scavenge what’s hanging from our trees when we wake on November 1st.