And then I thought, nah. What I actually thought was, What the hell are you thinking, girl? Just leave Halloween alone. Leave it fun. Leave it at the one night of the year when grownups can chuck their own identities and become someone else. It's a night when we hand out goodies to starving munchkins, midget witches and queens and Draculas. Don't mess with it. Just leave it alone.
And so I am.
What to know what's NOT scary? Stephen King's new book. I've given it 100 pages so far and ... nothing. I may just give up the ghost and move on to something else. The Woodward book is still waiting. I daresay that one, being non-fiction and all, will scare me.
The time change is now a fait accompli. I still have to get out my owners manual to figure out how to reset the clock in my car, but all the clocks in the house are now showing the correct time. And it IS the correct time. My body's circadian rhythm knows it, and so does yours. I knew when I woke up this morning that the time was back where it belonged.
My dog's doing her clingy-baby routine today for some reason. She does that sometimes, when she wants to stay right with me, do what I do, go where I go. She doles out lots of puppy kisses when she's in that mood, too. Which is fine with me. I like puppy kisses. Which reminds me of my niece's dog, Maggie, a Jack Russell terrorist -- er, terrier. Maggie apparently adores me, because she loves to kiss me more than my own dog does. I have no problem with that, either -- I love Maggie. Except -- she does her damndest to French kiss me. That, I don't want. Blech!
This may scare you -- yet another Storytime With Twisted Linguistics. These malapropisms amuse me, but they also frighten me -- because their sources actually think they're correct.
Today's ensemble cast:
THE CURSE OF THE MOMMY'S TOME
Once there was a woman named Diatribute who was also a mother who decided she wanted to write a book. She did her researech and then took a remedial English course to brush up on captilism and punturation. She was a little slow, so she did require some private toturing. Finally, she bought a computer and was ready to begin her writting carrier.
When her book was finished, she declared it very well writtern and proudly showed it off to all her friends, but they were not amused. They saw themselves in the pages of the ill-advised tome, their own personalities thinly disguised in the characters. They even accused Diatribute of mental mastubation at their expense. They were very angry that she was casting dispersions on them and came one night to expalin the facts of life to Diatribute.
"Go ahead!" she defied them. And they did. Which pissed off Diatribute, because she didn't realize that expalin was the opposite of impalin'. It took her over an hour to expale the spear from her chest.
Seeing in hindsight the error of her ways, Diatribute decided to take her cursed tome to the cememtary and reinterate it. The local cememtary was the holding pond of an abandoned cement plant, and it was a scary place at night.
"I shouldn't have come here alone," Diatribute thought to herself as she made her way through the darkness.
The more weird noises she heard, the more unearthly sights she thought she saw, the more she wished she had stayed at home.
"I should not have come," she reinterated.
Suddenly, a shadowy caped figure appeared in front of her.
"Good evening," he said.
"Who -- who are you?" she asked tremulously.
"I am your prince who toturs all your dreams," he said. "I have come to carry you away and teach you how to write. Wouldn't you like to come uppins and see me?"
"Okay," said Diatribute.
And he turned her into a pigeon, put her into a writting carrier, and carried her away.