Halloween Feet

by | Oct 31, 2010 | Uncategorized | 0 comments

Little Pumpkins
  LD's little pumpkin feet circa Halloween, October 2007.

B and I picked these little cuties up somewhere along the way – before babies and before pregnancy even, I think. Sadly, Zee is too big for them this time around.

Traditionally, Australians don't really do Halloween. So you can imagine my surprise when, last year, two costumed girls landed on our doorstep singing "Trick or treat!" I was so flustered (and heavily pregnant with Zee) that I made up a story about how I wasn't allowed to keep sweet things in the house due to a pregnancy condition and sent them, with extravagant apologies, on their way. If they'd arrived on my doorstep when I was pregnant with LD, the story would have been true – I did have Gestational Diabetes then – but this time around, I was subsisting on a diet of sugar and lard. True story. But it was also true that I had nothing sweet to put in their little trick or treating bags. Because I'd already eaten it. In keeping with my sugar and lard pregnancy diet…..

This year, I was determined to be prepared. I bought fun-size bags of Picnics, Crunchies and Caramello Koalas and left them, in readiness for costumed callers, at the front door.

But then, I thought Halloween was last night and when no-one turned up, B and I set about making a dent in the chocolate supply.

The doorbell rang a few hours back. A skeleton and a vampire stood at my front door, bags held forth, all Oliver "Please sir, some more" -style. I sent them both on their way.

With Crunchies!

What? You think B and I are animals? You think we ate 36 chocolate bars in less than 24 hours?

Okay, I'm not saying we're not capable of that kind of recklessness. But on this occasion, we were the very model of restraint.

Happy Halloween.

Hello friends


I’m Angie!  I mum. I write. I wife. My husband would say this is the correct order.  He’s so neeeedy. I live with my family in Melbourne, Australia, where I complain about the weather for 90% of the year – but I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Except maybe in Lake Como, waving to my neighbours George and Amal each morning.

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