Author's Note: BOO! You know I scared you.
Now Whyvillians, I know Halloween was a long time ago, but this is a lesson that NEEDS to get out there. It's an issue that has been long debated, and can certainly save you some embarrassing apologies. If you want to know more -- read along!
It was Halloween night about two years ago. Just a few months after I had discovered my love for iced tea. Naturally, I was a devil on Halloween, draped in long red garments and huge fake black nails. But what completed the costume, was my prized possession -- my stick of wonder.
THE PITCHFORK!
Now as I set out with my mom and my friends and their mom, I held that pitchfork like it was my own child. Not that I have ever given birth to a long, pointy plastic object before. That's not possible unless you -- whoa. Okay. Back to the story.
So as I flounced around, I kept reminding myself that this costume was a borrowed article of clothing. That the beloved pitchfork was not my own child, but alas, someone else's. So as we set out, and I anticipated the sugar high that was soon to follow, I didn't drop the pitchfork.
Our street was disappointing that year. Not many people had stepped it up. So as soon as I was getting used to not being scared, we came to a really normal looking house.
Big whoop, eh . . . NAT. (Yes, that is NAT. Not NOT, but NAT. So don't diss my spelling skills in the BBS.).
I went to the door with my homies, and rang the ominous bell. Well it wasn't ominous, but it was a bell sure enough. So anyways, I rang the bell. DING A LING! Duh . . .we waited . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited some more . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited some more . . . waited . . . waited . . . waited . . .
BAM!!!!!!
Something jumped off the bench on the porch. I, being the hero I am, used my super sonic reflexes and BAM!! Put that pitchfork to some good hard use. I speared the sharp plastic points into the villain who DARE SCARE ME ON HALLOWS EVE!
I screamed and screamed and stabbed and screamed and stabbed, screamed and stabbed at the same time. This person thing wasn't backing off!
I swung my pitchfork high above me head, and with one mighty swing, knocked the culprit off the porch. I fell down the stairs and screamed in pain while the culprit also screamed in shock and pain. A lot of screaming was going down as my "friends" took off down the driveway and left me there to get beat up by a culprit.
Who really wasn't a culprit.
It was my neighbor, who for some reason was doing garden work at seven at night on Halloween. I screamed and took off down the driveway, until my mother came and told me to "Get up there and apologize to Mr. Johnson right now young lady!" So I went and said a sheepish sorry. It was then I realized that the pitchfork had broken.
I broke down in tears as I realized this goodbye had come sooner rather than later. My friends were sorrowful, and we all sobbed heavily over the mangled stick of plastic. As I kneeled there on the rock hard driveway, watering my pitchfork with my tears of agony, it struck me. This was quite embarrassing.
So, Whyvillians, now I sit here in November, two years later, reflecting on how painful and embarrassing that night was. I was inspired to inform you of the death of my childly pitch fork, as I just found it in the crawlspace about 10 minutes prior.
The lesson, you ask? THINK BEFORE YOU HIT. For me it ended with a broken plastic pitchfork, one broken heart, two embarrassing apologies (one to Mr. Johnson and one to my neighbor followed by an explanation of why their pitchfork was broken), and a lot of candy I didn't even enjoy through the guilt of the murder I had just committed.
So Whyvillians, my advice is: A) Don't become so attached to inanimate objects, B) Don't borrow your neighbor's inanimate objects, and C) If you broke the inanimate object, throw it away so people don't have to hear you sob stories about how it was murdered.
Right now, I must go. Mr. Johnson wants his sponge bath.
