No trick or treaters. Not one. That's the perk/sadness of living in apartments that are across the street from the Homeless Park. We could have put out a giant sigh that said "Full size Butterfingers! Apartment 3C!" and nobody would have come. And at the end of the night my boyfriend's teenage son, Zach, came home from a big Halloween street party that some poshy folks down the street host and he was upset because he and his friends had been yelled at by the cops. "DO YOU HAVE EGGS IN YOUR POCKET! I'M GONNA ASK YOU AGAIN! EGGS!! DO YOU HAVE THEM?!"
Zach said that someone's older brother got put in the back of the cop car because he indeed had an egg in his pocket. It seemed so '50s and sweet. Egging. I think that being out wandering the streets in Santa Monica on Halloween as a giant 16 year old whose costume is simply a 'really big belt' is just not gonna work anymore.
A friend of mine ? he's a new friend ? in fact, he may not even know we're friends (I'll send him this blog and ask him "Okay?" and see what he says... I'll let you know if I get a "No, Lauren. We're not" response) ? he told me a story about being on a plane and noticing a woman breast-feeding what looked like a pretty big kid to him. And when the stewardess went by with the drink tray and asked the mom, "Something to drink?" the KID popped his mouth off the TEAT and said, "I want a pepsi," and then shoved it back in his mouth.
I'll have to tell that story to Zach so he'll understand that sometimes... it's just time to move to the next level of development.