For the Record: If you think we’re scary on Halloween, wait till Christmas
Met the new neighbors Tuesday night.
We’d been noticing their elaborate Halloween decorations going up all week.
“Should we tell them?” we pondered.
What we’d tell them is that Jacks Valley is dead on Halloween night. We’re lucky to hear one doorbell – usually we make the kids ring ours a few times and then give them all the candy.
Anyway, Halloween night daughter Casey and I had just returned from working The R-C booth at the Halloween Trick-or-Treat Safety Street (great job, DC Sheriff’s Office, by the way), and were still in costume.
She was Malibu Barbie – gorgeous in pink and yellow, wearing heels that made her 6 feet tall –and I was her overprotective, backwoods mother with a blacked-out tooth (now my Halloween signature, thank you, Lucille Ball), fake horn-rimmed glasses and other unrelated accessories.
It was a blast – the kids were so darling and I especially liked asking them “Have you seen my tooth?” or saying to the boys, “Stop looking at my daughter, Malibu Barbie!”
I only made one really little kid in a pumpkin suit run away.
So back at home, Malibu Barbie and I were feeling like Sammy Davis Jr. used to – still revved up after a show with nowhere to go (that was why he took up cooking in his hotel room), and we decided to go introduce ourselves to the new neighbors and maybe score a Hershey bar in the process.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Are they home? Oh, here they come with a big bowl of candy!
“Trick or treat!” we yell in unison (still revved up).
“No, actually, we’re not trick-or-treaters – we’re your neighbors,” I quickly explain as the woman with the bowl just stood there, propping open her door looking at us.
“I’m Linda and this is my daughter Casey,” I said with enthusiasm. “We live right over there (point), and thought we’d come say happy Halloween and welcome to the neighborhood. Awesome decorations, by the way.”
Did you save your receipts? She just stands there stunned. Then, another woman comes to the door from inside the house carrying (I swear) a kid in a pumpkin suit.
“Hi, we’re your new neighbors,” I repeat. “I’m Linda and this is my daughter Casey. We live right over there (point), and thought we’d come say Happy Halloween and welcome to the neighborhood. Awesome decorations, by the way.”
By now all three of them are looking at us like we have a spaceship parked out front. Oh, it’s the costumes, I suddenly remember!
“This is a fake, blacked-out tooth!” I say, chortling and pointing. “And these glasses don’t even have glass in them, see?”
I poke my eye. Malibu Barbie stands there, smiling with her perfect teeth, shaking from the cold by now. It’s much warmer at night in Malibu.
Somehow we managed a vapid exchange, but it was strained. We offered our kudos for their scary decorations, told them about our first Halloween in the neighborhood (can you say “vat of candy that lasts a year?”), scored some chocolate and left.
It wasn’t until I was watching the video of Malibu and me later on (very bizarre, I must say) that it dawned on me … our new neighbors think we are REALLY Malibu Barbie and her hillbilly mother!
Come to think of it, they didn’t smile much, and what if that was the same pumpkin boy I scared at the Safety Street?
I can’t wait to drop in at Thanksgiving with some pumpkin pie. Same costumes only with pilgrim hats.
“Hi, this is Malibu Barbie the pilgrim and I’m her hillbilly pilgrim mother …”
Linda Hiller is a staff writer for The Record-courier.