Every once in a while, despite being medicated, I get all riled up about something. Usually it is a short term fuming kind of mad and then I am done. I move on quickly and don't hold a grudge.
My kids went out in the neighborhood to trick o treat with Argenida and Jeff and I stayed home to pass out the treats at our place. It was a beautiful and perfect night- cool fall weather and clear skies. I was stocked up with bags of the best selection of fun sized chocolates and I was ready to see some cuties. But later in the festivities last night I got really pissed off at the trick o treaters that came to my house between 7:30 and 8:00- let me explain. I guess that after trick-o-treating from 6-7:30 these "older" kids were getting tired. Okay, if you are tired to stay out for the whole two hours, you quit mooching candy and go home. OH NO, not these suburban prince and princesses- not in my posh neighborhood. Apparently, when you get too tired Mommie and Daddy drive you from house to house- no more WALKING, you just trot from the comfort of the European Sedan up to the porch, ring the bell, take the chocolate, and gingerly trot back to the waiting vehicle at curbside. Lather, rinse, repeat until your bag is overflowing full or time is up at 8:00. Forgive me for sounding like a total asshole, but honestly, if you have to DRIVE between the houses, doesn't that exempt you from the candy? I am not talking about handicapped kids, or little toddlers- I am referring to able bodied 10 year olds. Sheesh. After I saw the second and third one using what I am now calling the car scam method, I got irked. Shit, when we were young we had to walk 5 miles in snow up hill both ways...but really, if we pooped out during Halloween trick-o-treating our dads, who were walking in the street with other fathers, flashlights and an open container, would say- too tired to walk- time to go home. End of story. So I was mad last night, I decided to do my own justice--to punish these primadonnas- I gave them the crappy candy- no more Reese's and Butterfingers for you, now take these cheap butterscotch discs, scoot your fat, lazy, ass back to the Benz and see you next year! Love, the Crazy Triplet Lady
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