It’s the Great Pumpkin, Lucy VanPelt.

I went trick-or-treating tonight.

Try not to be too offended.  I’ve seen the CNN commentary on age limits.

I am really short, and I went to the trouble to deck myself out in a costume that completely obscured my age and appearance.  (One of those silver over-the-head skeleton masks, with a neon pink wig — a very tasteful bob — over the mask itself, and matching pink and black attire.)

Even without the costume, I’m often mistaken for a high schooler.  Just a few months ago, I went to Macy’s in search of a clothes hamper for my mother.  When I said “laundry hamper,” the salesman held up a pink, mesh bag and asked where I was going to college.  I need a smart line for situations like these, other than “you’re about 8 years too late.”

My father maintains that one day I will be begging for people to think I’m in high school.  For now, I’d like to get into a bar without looks of skepticism as I root through my purse and sigh.  (A few months ago, a server carded ME, but *not* my date.  Either I look that young, or he looked like he was creeper enough to bring someone underage to a dark martini bar with pillows to match the cushy bench seats.)

The reason for the trick-or-treating wasn’t to swindle my neighbors out of candy, or encroach upon what is ordinarily a festive evening for the wee ones.  (Trick?  Really?  It’s really just “give me candy” now, isn’t it? If a bunch of teenagers actually tried to trick a bunch of suburban Moms with buckets of Snickers, they’d likely be arrested…)  Anyhow, we didn’t want to offend or scare anyone.  My mother dreads hoards of large teenagers whose grubby hands take too much candy, and appear to be more interested in hanging around the neighborhood looking menacing.  I didn’t intend to be such an overgrown trick-or-treater.

My father and I have a habit of doing things big on holidays, and this was the first legit holiday on the calendar since I’ve been living at home, so we figured: why not?

Oh yeah.  Dad came too.

I think that the last time I went out and begged for candy was in the fifth grade.  I was a chubby kid, and recall being winded as I walked from house to house with my fitter, faster friends.  I can’t even recall what I went as.  So now, as an adult, I end up doing up the things that didn’t go so well.  My mother never let us put our own decorations on our Christmas tree because it interfered with her decor.  So now I have my own tree, next to hers.  On Thanksgiving, no one ever wanted to head out to the early morning sales.  Now, my Dad and I go just for the fun of it, coffee in hand.  And on Halloween, my mother always insisted that we wear our winter coats over our costumes.

My treat bag?  A reusable shopping bag adorned with the logo of the firm I will not be working for, and thus can’t be seen with anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon.

Dad was a gorilla, a spirited one.  It was just a bit frightening, in fact.  In the spirit of not being “those people,” he took off his mask for all of the neighbors after they’d unsuspectingly given us our loot.  It was all a bit hilarious, his 55+ self walking up to the door, my saying trick-or-treat in a chipper voice, and then him saying “Hi Joyce,” or something to that effect, and pulling off the mask.  I like to think that everyone got a kick out of it.  Some begged us to stay around and chat, and threw more candy in our bags so they wouldn’t have to stand outside for the entire evening, strict adherence to the candy-is-gone-lights-out philosophy.

In a better stunt, yesterday was the neighboring county’s trick-or-treat day, and Dad and I managed to go to my Grandmother’s front door through the backyard, ditching the car on the neighboring street. Dad is nearly as short as I am, which only helped the situation.

Grandma ended up wearing the pink wig for a good part of the evening.

At any rate, it was fun walking through people’s lawns, on thick carpets of crunchy leaves, and chatting with Gorilla Dad.  We hardly made it through half of the neighborhood, and we spent most of the time marveling at how warm it was in one of those store-bought masks, and chatting about how nice our neighbors’ porch set-ups were.  And there is no other day when it is acceptable to ring all of your neighbors’ respective doorbells. (“Dad, you’re meeting all the neighbors!”  “Yes, but they don’t know they’re meeting me!”)

The new:  Neighbors collected at the end of cul-de-sacs (it’s called a COURT, dammit) with card-table candy assembly lines where visitors were instructed to take one from each bowl.  Usually involved a small fire-pit-like apparatus and one guy with a beer.  Dad shunning my sister’s patented Halloween bartering system and letting me have all of the Almond Joys AND KitKats.  (Sister, B, always got better stuff, no matter what year.  No idea how this always happened, but most Halloweens ended with sorting, pleading, and then my pouty ass going upstairs to work on my 10 year old whining.)

The rest of Dad’s stash is going on his desk, for his students to munch on during office hours.  Most of mine is sitting on a chair, but an inappropriate amount sits in a regretful, heavy pit in the bottom of my stomach, a painful reminder that I am no longer 11 years old.

The old:  O’Henry Bars.  Where does one even buy such a thing?  My mother snatched it away in amazement.

The delightful:  “Take more.  Like, way more.  Otherwise my husband will eat it.”  Small children dressed as bugs.  (The ladybug is the official costume of the terrible two’s.)  Kids in Glee t-shirts carrying around a boom-box.  (I just said boom-box.)  Impossibly complicated gummy treats shaped as hamburgers.  Pretzel M&Ms, which I’d been meaning to buy and try.

The hilarious: Upon pulling off my mask, a neighbor shouting, “and you’re a LAWYER!”  (Lawyers have jobs and are drunk on Sunday nights to avoid dreading Monday; law graduates go trick-or-treating in neon wigs. Nom Nom.)  Neighbor asking me for legal advice (“I am NOT your attorney and this is NOT legal advice; it’s legal INFORMATION!”)  Guy who jumped out from the bushes and honest-to-god scared me. (Kudos.)  Neighbor who returned with a clipping of the piece in the local paper (submitted at my Grandmother’s perpetual insistence) that I’d graduated from law school.  Which he then put in my Dad’s sack of treats.

Fail:  After what was to be our Halloween candy disappeared (oops…), our house made the seemingly ingenious decision to purchase candy we don’t care for, in hopes that we’d keep our paws off it until the big day.  We’ve now got a family-sized bag full of Dots and other sticky stuff left in the front hall.

At least I didn’t have to wear a coat?