November 3, 2019
“Oh, the Halloween horror!”
The family’s Halloween gathering at Jill’s house was
a success. Not a big success, ‘cause nobody wore a costume. Dennis’ wife,
Dardon Ann, dressed rather weirdly, but I can’t say for sure that her outfit was
a costume. I can say for sure that Dardon will not read this article, so I’m
safe in nailing her stubborn hide to the wall in print. I can’t believe I don’t
do it more often.
Used
to, all of the Hayter Halloween parties were big festive occasions. We always
had an award for the best costume. Big Al probably has his bookcase loaded with
first-place trophies from way back. We also had talent shows in Mom’s garage. I
was always the emcee of the show, so I never won any talent awards. Dardon Ann
came up with a law about the emcee being disqualified from participating in the
talent part of the show. I’m not saying that I was the reason she never won an
award herself, but I did have some sway.
At
our latest gathering, I was in charge of nothing. Without question, I was the
nicest person there, but that and $12 will get you a can of beer at a baseball
game. (Did you see that replay of the guy who was holding two cans of beer when
a homer was hit in his area of the stadium, and it hit him right in the chest? He
didn’t have time to put his beer down, so he took it in the chest. He got a
beer commercial out of it. Had I taken a ball to the chest, my commercial
would’ve been shot in room 5223 of Herman Memorial.
As
I mentioned, though, I had no role in our latest Halloween party. All I got to
do was play in the games, like regular people. The first game we played had to
do with chopsticks and candy. The object was to use chopsticks to pick up as
many pieces of candy as you could and drop them in a bowl. The person who picked up the most pieces of
candy won.
I
don’t know if you’re aware, but my family roots can be traced back to Cornwall,
England. My ancestors ate with two-tined forks, not two pointed sticks.
Jasmine, one of Al’s lovely granddaughters, won with 21 pieces of candy in her
bowl. She won because she has the patience of a napping Koala.
Next,
Jill had us play “Hot Potato”, only instead of a real potato, she used a round
furry ball with a recorder inside that played popsicle truck music. We all sat
in a circle and passed the furball around until the music stopped. At that
point, the person in possession of the ball had to leave the circle in shame.
During
the game, there would’ve been no need for a brawl had the instructions been
more carefully explained. Does a person have to be actually holding the ball to
be in possession? Suppose, Clint, Al’s son, throws the ball across the room to
Kay, and it bounces off her head just as the furry potato music dies. Does that
mean Kay was in possession of the ball and had to leave the game in shame? Or,
is Clint out of the game due to his lousy toss? I’ll tell you right up front,
Kay didn’t give two hoots one way or the other, but Dardon Ann did, and she and
Clint went round and round.
Long
story short, I won the game. I tossed the ball to my niece-in-law, Kristy, and
it hit her in the shoulder and bounced behind her. While she was digging for
it, the music stopped. I have a nice, warm, mini-blanket on my recliner as my
award for winning the 2019 Halloween Hot-Potato Game. Jill quit making trophies
and bought practical gifts for the winner. My sister is an absolute doll!
The
big mistake of the entire event had to do with corndogs. Jill decided that
corndogs would be the meal of choice at her party. Al was chosen to make the
things because he did such a great job five years ago when we had corndogs. It
can be a terrible thing when one is requested to replicate a fete that happened
years prior.
The
corndogs turned out cold and burnt. I’ll tell you right off the top, never wait
for everyone to show up before preparing your corndogs. All 21 people were in
the house when Jill started making the batter for the dogs. The weiners were
still in the fridge at the time. Al handed me some footlong pointy sticks and
told me to cut ‘em into four-inch lengths. In other words, my kid brother wanted
me to short-stick the corndogs. When your corndog is short-sticked, you end up
with both stick and cold corndog in the boiling oil. The stick is supposed to
keep your fingers from burning.
The
minute the charred corndogs were grabbed out of the oil, they were served. Oh,
the humanity. When you see grownups crying at a Halloween party, the event is
no longer classified as a party. It was, in fact, a Halloween Horror. Those who were able to
actually take a bite out of the firesticks griped that their corndog was cold.
The batter was even runny. Yet, all but one dog got eaten. It was the one Kay
took a bite of and placed back on the tray.
I
doubt we’ll do corndogs next year. In fact, I doubt we’ll even have a Halloween
gathering next year. The family is just not adept enough to maintain a
worthwhile tradition anymore. I don’t think we can blame the chopsticks or
hot-potato or the flaming corndogs. No, I’m pretty sure that all the ill
feelings were tied to Dardon Ann. That girl is one hot potato.
end
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