Enough. Enough, I say! After another truly awful few weeks, I am done with this stupid year; 2020, you will not take October, the most magical month of them all, from me without a fight. And I’m scrappy, so don’t underestimate me.
To that end, I have already begun planning an epic Halloween display. I typically set up six to seven ghoulish vignettes in the front yard, showcased by thousands of orange twinkle lights and a dozen or so floods, in an attempt to relive my childhood and for an excuse to wear a Foxy Cleopatra wig. Everything from warty witches brewing potions, Carol Ann from “Poltergeist” enjoying an undead tea party, a baseball-capped skeleton lawn-mowing over the ex-boyfriend … I’m very clever. I’m also certain I’m breaking a whole host of neighborhood association and electrical safety rules, but I don’t care. Especially not amidst this craziness.
I have already put together my newest acquisition, a 6-foot-3 animatronic Grim Reaper who sucks the fog machine-induced life force out of a defenseless but creepy little girl while throatily muttering, “You’re soul is miiine.” It’s truly terrifying. Far more terrifying than the nearly 7-foot Pennywise we bought in 2019, even though I am 100 percent anti-clown (those half-off sales get me every time, nightmares be damned!).
Even my husband Doo has promised to help. Usually, he’s just good for finding which breaker I’ve popped or resetting the inevitable blown fuse, but I think he senses how much I need this, not only for the fun but for the normalcy.
So, say goodbye, 2020, you miserable SOB. October and I are taking you down.