Real life is much scarier than Halloween

Who needs Halloween when real life is so scary?

Who needs Halloween when real life is so scary?

The first item on the evening news has me in tears - the humanitarian crisis in Afghanistan, and the snotfest continues as we plough on through climate crisis, a Covid update of rising cases, then FB and social media being full of hate - tell me about it, I’ve been ghosted more than Ebeneezer Scrooge. Humbug!

Sign up to our Opinion newsletter

“Sob.”

“Is that you watching the news again?” shouts Youngest Child from the bathroom where she’s shampooing her eyebrow spoolies.

“Yes, sniff.”

“Well don’t.”

“Ok. I’m going out.”

“Out? You? Where?”

Good question. It’s blowing a hoolie with horizontal rain and it’s dark, but a mental health walk calls and it’s good for the step count.

“Supermarket. Milk. We’re out again.”

“Don’t buy that lumpy oat stuff.”

On the list. Bet it’s her that’s pouring it down the sink.

At the supermarket it’s partying like it’s 1999 as the evening shelf stackers take over choons. There’s dad dancing in the aisles - deep disco at the last-chance cabinet, throwing pasta shapes in Continental, and a whole aisle of jolly orange plastic Halloween items.

I know - single use plastics, bad, but I’m drawn to a glittery, pipe cleaner spider with red sequin eyes - Youngest hates spiders. Arachnophobia? A little snowflakey when the world’s going to hell in a handcart. And I can plant it in her room every year from now till Armageddon - granted that might be closer than previously predicted - thereby lessening its footprint. Maybe some fake teeth too (Middle’s going to a party and his Vampire costume consists of a white shirt - no he doesn’t own one. I do, but who needs officewear?)

Back at the workpod while I’ve been out Youngest has received a delivery.

“My Halloween costume!” she squeaks.

“Yay! Show me,” I say, hiding the lumpy oat milk and spider.

She brandishes a tiny red leotard-y thing, the fabric equivalent of a face mask but I’m sure it’ll stretch like Mrs Incredible.

“Aw no. They’ve only sent half of it. What a shame,” I say.

“You’re not funny.”

“Well I’M not amused by the idea of you wearing THAT in clubs.”

“Clubs? With all the spiking and the Covid passport thingy we’ll probs stay in - watch telly at someone’s.”

I feel bad now. It’s all a bit authentically dark and grim. Never mind, it’ll soon be Christmas, at least we’ve got that to look forward to. Oh.

Read More

A message from the Editor:

Thank you for reading this article. We're more reliant on your support than ever as the shift in consumer habits brought about by coronavirus impacts our advertisers.

If you haven't already, please consider supporting our trusted, fact-checked journalism by taking out a digital subscription.