This happened back in the '90s when I was living with Main Lady and Excellent Rachmaninoff in quaint, historical Lincoln Woods up in Sylvania, Ohio.
It's Halloween and Main Lady has maternal instincts that kick in like an alarm clock on Monday morning. I'm hep to this and so I'm on my best behavior. I buy six pounds of candy at the store and a large sack of apples, then I open the front door and install a baby gate to keep the little trick-or-treaters on the good side of the foyer; I tie the dog to something so he can't get over the gate and savage the little darlings into six lawsuits and a SWAT team standoff - which he'd like to do. The dog hated children. He loved his family, but some people, like, for instance, Main Lady's sister, he didn't like at all. In point of fact he actually bit the sister...
So the dog barks, and Main Lady and I hand out candy and make cute comments about the little kids at the gate. I was bored, so I had a whiskey.
A kid comes to the gate all on his own. He's about eight or ten, but he's one of these tall, goofy types whose coordination hasn't caught up to his height. He's dressed like the devil, horns, tail, red costume and all. I walk over with the candy bucket in my hand.
"Look, it's the devil himself," I say in a stentorian voice, "Well shake hands - I've married your sister!"
I shake hands with the kid and I can hear his father laughing like hell out on the sidewalk.
Main Lady gave me the silent treatment for a while, but I didn't mind.
That's how I spent Halloween.
