I Once Dated A Ghoul, er Girl

This is is the first year in the last 17 that none of my kids went Trick-‘or-Treating which consequently means I cannot implement Dad’s Candy Tax.

Don’t tell Trump or he’ll try to take credit Bigly.

Since this is our first Halloween in this house I had no idea how many kids we’d get, especially because it was a little wet outside.

So we did as we always do and erred on the side of caution because it is better to have too much food than too little.

And that my friends is why I sit here with a pile of candy bars next to me, swearing that each bite is the last one.

With that we hit our first music break, might as well let Mr. Osbourne take us on the next part of the journey.

I Once Dated A Ghoul, er Girl

My irrepressible 13 year-old daughter, the one who says sarcasm is her second language was trying to needle me about a few things so I asked her if she wanted to know a story about how I once dated a ghoul.

She gave me an eye roll and told me she questions whether any woman besides her mother was crazy enough to give me any time and I smiled.

“Dad, that is disgusting.”

“No, what is disgusting is the one who tried to eat my face while kissing me. You haven’t lived until you have dated a ghoul, er girl who was a St. Bernard in a past life.”

She stifled a giggle and told me she wasn’t sure if she should encourage me to go on.

“Besides, you never tell me anything good.”

“You don’t want to know anything good. It will give you nightmares.”

“I bet you gave your exes nightmares, probably made them cry too.”

“Just a few, some told me they didn’t cry because it gave them a headache.”

“Dad, you are so slow. She was saying you give her a headache.”

“No, she was telling me she didn’t know how to live without me and that if she wasn’t in touch in some way her head would explode and her heart would break.”

“Dad, you are impossible.”

“That is patently false, I am clearly possible because without me you wouldn’t be here.”

She rolled her eyes again.

“Dad, sometimes I wonder if I am with the right family.”

“Don’t wonder, I was there when we pulled the goalie and I can guarantee you are mine.”

“Stop it, I don’t want to know any more.”

“No, you really don’t.”

And this my friends is how you keep the 13 year-old female version of you from getting too big for her britches.

Matzah Ball Soup Required

I really ought to be in bed sleeping because it is clear that something foul is fighting to infect me.

There were some soft sneezes that got progressively stronger and the absolute need to take a nap when I got home.

I made a point to set my alarm for 25 minutes but it was an enormous struggle to get my ass out of bed again.

Not to mention when I woke up for a moment I swore I was back in my Fort Worth apartment and thought I smelled an exotic perfume.

Anyhoo, I made a huge cup of coffee, sucked it down and then watched the Dodgers tie up the World Series.

That wasn’t just amazing, it was awesome.

Game seven here we come and now as I unwind I wonder if force of will can kill this cold beast that has attacked me.

If not, matzah ball soup is required.

In a moment I’ll head off to bed and unless something odd happens I’ll be asleep before my head hits the pillow.

Before I do I’ll say not for the first time how interesting it is to me the connections we have with some people and that we don’t have with others.

Sometimes we are certain that connection is dead and that whatever fuel helped that fire burn is out and then something happens that proves it never died.

The flames had dwindled to embers that hadn’t required but the faintest wind to come roaring back. I suspect that is why sometimes we don’t get cups of coffee with some and exactly why we do with others.

It is the illogical logic of human interaction.

And with that we sign off with Stealers Wheel Stuck in the Middle With You. Clowns to the left of me and Jokers to the right.