Rejection, Now in Fun Size

I didn't dress up for Halloween this year...because I'm 32.  Also, because I didn't have an invitation to a costume party. Instead, I stayed home, supervised a bowl of awesome candy (i.e., made new cavities) and accepted some worthy rejection.

I rarely submit stuff to be published (even to Yahoo, who requests it). So it was slightly meaningful to have my open letter rejected by a publishing site that I actually admire. I agree with the decision, though. They ask for non-fiction material and, while my sentiment was very real, there were a few obvious lies. (I would NEVER watch Jersey Shore. Ever.)

On a blameworthy note, I wrote this while under the influence of Theraflu.

Open Letter to My Neighborhood Trick or Treaters

Dear Neighborhood Trick or Treaters,

Remember last year when some of you caught me turning off the porch light just as you were walking up my driveway to beg for candy? I felt bad and could see your disappointment as I peeked through the blinds to make sure you weren’t going to throw rocks at my windows. I had really good candy that night, too. In my defense, I was ignorant to the fact that you would invite your scout troop along, and that third grade class who rang the doorbell before you cleaned me out earlier than I anticipated.

That night, after hearing your parents call me a low life in espanol, I made a pact with myself that I would stock up next time.

Well, about this “next time”.

First, let me say that, technically, I did my part. I went to the store a couple of weeks ago and bought good stuff like full-sized candy bars, peanut butter cups, gummy bears, and candy-apple suckers. After all, I understand that you will be taking the time to put together some costume I won’t recognize in order to properly demand the sweet stuff; therefore, you deserve something better than wax lips or candy corn for the effort.

What I didn’t anticipate was, well, you see, I have diabetes. OK, I think I have diabetes. Or maybe not diabetes, but whatever the condition where you need to eat stuff like candy to regulate your blood sugar level: I have that. I happened to catch a Jersey Shore marathon last night and, after deciding that I didn’t want to live in a world where these people are celebrated, I regulated my blood sugar until I passed out. You can imagine how depressed I was to awake to all those unwanted calories and (probably) cavities.

I became determined to pull myself together and not let something silly like Snooki or Snickers devalue my sense of self. I wanted to teach that candy a lesson by getting rid of it, but you weren’t planning to stop by in costume for another week and those peanut butter cups were costly, so I took one for the team and ate the rest.   

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I ran out of candy this year – already – thanks to my “diabetes”. I’ve really learned my lesson for next year.

Out of respect for our dignities, I promise to keep the porch light off and pretend not to be home if you’ll pretend you don’t see the flickering light of my television through the curtains.