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Broke Wife, Big City
The
trick-or-treater always rings twice
By Aprill Brandon
It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was dark and sprinkling a
little bit. But that annoying kind of sprinkle that gets your clothes
all soggy.
It was quiet inside the house. Perhaps a bit too quiet. Well, not
really too quiet. I mean, the TV was on. And for some reason the fridge
always emitted a high-pitch squeal that could be heard throughout the
rest of the house. (But everyone always ignored that sound because it
probably meant the fridge was on its last legs and honestly, no one
really wanted to deal with it).
On the couch sat two nervous creatures. One wide-eyed and tense because
she knew what was coming. The other wide-eyed and tense because he
didn’t know what was coming but since she was acting weird, he felt
there was no time like the present to also act weird. So while she
absent-mindedly picked at her nail polish and cast furtive glances in
his direction, he awkwardly climbed on her lap, not really sitting and
not really standing, but nonetheless blocking the TV from her view
anyway.
They sat this way as agonizing minutes ticked by.
Tick.
Tick.
High pitch squeal from fridge.
Tick.
And then, just when she thought they might have lucked out this year,
thought that maybe by some miracle the porch light burned out, it
happened. The very thing she had been dreading.
“Ding-dong!”
And that’s when all hell broke loose. Before she could stop him, he
launched his (freakishly strong, by the way) 32-pound body like a
rocket off her lap, hitting the floor mid-stride and doing a Scooby-Doo
scramble around the corner of the coffee table until he reached the
door at the top of the stairs of their second-story apartment, barking
and howling the entire time like the neighborhood feral cats had
finally gotten organized and were attacking the house en masse.
She, meanwhile, started calmly yelling at him to “shut up!” and “knock
it the hell off!” while simultaneously trying to pull him back from the
door by his collar so she could squeeze her frame through without
letting him through (which, since she didn’t weigh 32 pounds, was no
mean feat). This was followed by trying to close said door as he
repeatedly launched his entire (freakishly strong) body at any and all
openings. After finally getting the door shut and ignoring the
desperate sounds of him howling and trying to dig his way under the
closed door, she made her way as quick as she could down the stairs to
the front door, which she threw open to some very startled
trick-or-treaters and tried to breathlessly yell “Happy Halloween!”
over the clamor of what probably sounded to a small child like a dog
getting murdered.
Luckily, the little kids who didn’t burst into tears at the sight and
sound of a crazed dog and even more crazed and out-of-breath woman, got
their candy (name brand, of course, because said woman felt bad for
putting them through all that trauma just for a bite-sized knock-off
Twix) and went on their merry way, no more worse for the wear.
And then she slowly went back up the stairs, back to him, he who had
finally stopped barking and was enthusiastically wagging his tail like
“gee, wasn’t THAT fun!?”. They sat back down on the couch together, he
once again not quite sitting, not quite standing on her lap, she once
again not able to see the TV.
And they both breathed a sigh of relief.
Which was quickly followed by another “Ding-dong!”
Repeat 27 more times.
The moral of this story, kids? Appreciate your Halloween candy.
Treasure it. And try to remember through the fog of your sugar-induced
mania the sacrifices some of us dog-owning adults had to go through to
ensure that that candy got into your little hands.
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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