by Kimberley Thompson, Tastemaker in Residence

Orange sirens seductively whispering my name from field beds of withered vines. Not scantily clad "Pirate Vixen" costume models staring lustfully at faux Blackbeards with faux black beards.

Tantalizing sniffs of crunchy fall leaves as they met their first, and last, bonfire. Not potent drinks named after nonexistant tidal vortices...whose only similarities were the swirling cyclones of fluoridated water in the porcelian throne.

Trilling 2 octive screeches from prepubescent throats, slapping soles of tennis shoes hitting concrete sidewalks and jostling bodies on cement stoops. Not assorted adult bodies doing awkward, pole-dancing (?) inspired Frankenstein moves to "Monster Mash" and husky pick-ups of "will you be my Mummy?" 

Popcorn balls. Caramel apples. Tootie Rolls. Almond Joy. Sugar Babies. ATOMIC FIREBALLS. Not test-tube, lab created pumpkin lattes, soy wax "Fall Fires" candles, iridescent bumper stickers proclaiming " My other ride is a broom!" Not an avalanche of Halloween in every store as of September 1st.

Everything is too adult, too scary, too contrived. What happened to the quick rush of Halloween? (When costumes were put together in less than a week?) When did it become about adult desires? Why did it leave childhood behind?

So, my house will be the one with the 4 pumpkins, handing out goodies bags with Tootsie Rolls. KitKats, Snickers and Red Hots. I will wait for the doorbells and the off-key "Trick or Treat" medley before opening the door. My Mom will be the elderly lady seeing a little child through the memories of dozens of pirate urchins over 79 years...and still smile like it is the first and BEST pirate she has ever seen! (No worries...I will explain your Wolverine, Tranformer and Elsa costumes to her later!)