I'm not much of a Halloween person. Don't crucify me; it's just not my thing. I don't like putting ridiculous paint (excuse me, makeup) all over my face. I don't enjoy eating snack food that looks like severed fingers and bloody eyeballs. Call me crazy. I don't like snobby kids interrupting dinner every two minutes asking for food. And I HATE it when parents knock on my door, chime trick or treat, and reach in to take my candy "for the baby." Get real. There's no way your 9-month old is going to eat all that candy.
I love decorating with spider webs and pumpkins and fall colors. I love pumpkin carving. I love watching (uninterrupted) scary movies. I LOVE it when Halloween falls on Sunday.
I am, however, very much a Christmas person. My family's year was spent in anticipation for the day we'd get the box of Christmas CDs out of the closet and start playing Mariah Carey, Amy Grant, Harry Connick Jr, and Charlie Brown Christmas. December was all about the village, the lights, the garlands, the tree, nativity, the homemade candy, the Secret Santas, the wrapping, the caroling with Mom's Holy Scones afterwards, catching Santa EVERY YEAR as he brings in presents while we hide behind the couch, lounging on the beach Christmas afternoon. It's just the greatest holiday.
Phil LOVES Halloween. He loves dressing up in costumes. He loves candy. He loves deviled eggs and bog slime
He thinks having a village is a pointless tradition. He hates Christmas music. He made me promise not to listen to Christmas music out loud while he's around until after Thanksgiving. AFTER THANKSGIVING?!?! His idea of a perfect Christmas is opening twenty video games, then disappearing for the rest of the day and the following week to beat them all.
Conflict of interests.
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