Terrible things are bound to happen on Halloween. Like single-people parties filled with vulnerability and sexual tension. It’s important to keep in mind that none of us can be held accountable for our behavior on most holidays. Even the second-string ones.
One party had a pumpkin spice cake though. And…hot damn. I cut a piece that was expert sized: just satisfying enough right until the point I’ll start hating myself. I was pretty happy I found the line until—with feeding-hawk vision—I saw my friend Emily out of the corner of my eye. I figured she must want a bite and was coming to ruin everything. Once her hand started reaching over toward me, I panicked and yelled “you’re going to have to get your own!”…just as her hand landed on the actual target: her diet coke just beyond my plate. She slowly backed away from me, and I hung my head in pumpkin-filled shame.
I wish I could say this was the first time this happened. I wish I could even say this was the first time this happened with Emily. But it’s not. You think I’m cool enough to share that cake or maybe some popcorn with you? I’ll do anything for love. But I won’t do that. It’s unfortunately not the only thing meatloaf and I have in common.
Emily went as perv bait this Halloween. I went as a cat. With food-hoarding and trust issues. True identities always shine on all hallow’s eve.