I’m not a fan of a Halloween. There. I’ve said it. I’m the one on Oct. 31 who turns off the porch lights and hides in the basement. If there was a Scrooge equivalent for Halloween, I’d be it.
I went trick or treating as a kid and I actually have fond memories of the whole event.
My mom, who skillfully made our costumes, dressed my brothers and I up as Batman, Robin and, inexplicably, Peter Pan, one year. We had special pillowcases we used to collect our goodies and we were allowed to keep bowls with all our treats under our beds. I tried to make that bowl last well into December.
My friends and I would roam the Calgary neighbourhood I grew up in, purposely avoiding that one house that handed out pencils instead of candy. We spoke in hushed tones about the apples that might have a razorblade in them. It was a lot of fun.
But as an adult, I’ve developed a dislike for all it entails.
I don’t like that the candy I shouldn’t eat, but do, appears on grocery store shelves at the beginning of September.
I don’t like horror movies or zombies. I have never seen an episode of the Walking Dead, and never will.
I really hate all the skimpy costumes for women that are out there. Sexy Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz? Why? Why do we have to take something wholesome and sweet and objectify it?
I don’t like spiders, creepy things or skulls.
I love pumpkins – in pies, pancakes and lattes. I feel no need to carve one.
I will, under no circumstances, dress my dogs up in costumes. It just embarrasses them. Though a pug in a Yoda costume is pretty adorable.
And despite having to cover them for the papers, haunted houses terrify me. All those chainsaw wielding zombies jumping out from behind hidden doors scare the daylights out of me.
I have friends who love all these things, and I don’t judge them; it’s just not for me.
Maybe it’s the commercialization of seemingly everything in our society that turns me off. The Halloween candy and decorations won’t be off the shelves for two minutes before the Christmas stuff is put out and the radio stations start playing non-stop Christmas carols. (This is why I listen to satellite radio).
Or maybe it’s because I’m pretty squeamish and jittery in general. The hair stands up on the back of my neck on a regular basis. My husband says I’m jumpy. I say you shouldn’t walk up behind someone relaxing in a hot tub and say hello.
Being scared just isn’t my thing. I also don’t go on roller coasters. Yes. I’m a coward. Having all those creepy things around at Halloween shoves me way out of my comfort zone.
Little kids dressed up for Halloween as princesses or firemen going door to door yelling ‘trick or treat’ and collecting candy, I understand. I think it’s sweet and all very harmless.
But willingly agreeing to be scared out of your wits or subjected to a bunch of blood and gore just makes me shudder.
It could be that I’m simply overly sentimental and wish Halloween was more like what I remember from my childhood. Less zombies and blood and more candy and cute costumes. More kids with boxes collecting change for UNICEF like we did and fewer teenagers trying to toilet paper my yard.
Actually, I’m going to donate blood at a Canadian Blood Services clinic that evening. That’s kind of in the spirit of the event, right?
And to that I say, bah hum-spider.
