|Essential zip-lock of toiletries|
I hate to fly.
So here I am, combining both my phobias in some weird through-the-looking-glass like-cures-like move. Waiting to board a spooktacular (Ugh) flight to the east coast, it turns out that LAX is pretty much Hallowe'en neutral. Unlike, say, Hollywood Boulevard (my most terrifying Hallowe'en night ever) or any shopping mall or pretty much anywhere. There's one friendly ghost half-inflated inflatable at one of the Southwest gates, and one gate attendant sporting an indeterminate set of animal ears. (Bear? Mouse? Anybody's guess.) There's no one here dressed like death, no one streaming fake blood, no fake weapons. Hurray. Now pass the spiked apple cider and the day will be pretty much perfect. There is a guy next to me in corduroy trousers with mallards embroidered on them, but I just heard him say it's his weekend casual outfit. I'll take that over a zombie covered in goo any day.
I did spend one fairly decent Hallowe'en on my front porch. C and I dressed in basic black and witches hats with a great playlist on the laptop. Neighborhood children approached but were not terrified. We gave out good candy. (One year when my kids were small I gave out glow-in-the-dark toothbrushes. Sorry.)
Okay. So go dress up. Scare people. I'm already scared, so you can skip me. But maybe read THIS first.