Despite chocolate fingerprints on either side of the calendar’s holiday, I see that Halloween has again been scheduled for the last day of October. If there’s anything significant on Oct. 30 or Nov. 1, I’ll never know. Thank you, Reese’s.

The kiddos and America’s candy manufacturers are rejoicing on sugar-coated streets. Actually, we “adults” participate in some capacity, almost as much as the kids. From costume-making, buying or wearing to decorating a home in increasingly macabre props, we’re up to our dangling eyeballs in this holiday.

As of today, Halloween and all its gory dangers are a month and three days in the distance. I take a more carefree approach to this holiday than, say, my wife Jen who prefers to exercise caution that I’d ignore. I can tell she is already assembling a speech to be delivered daily up to and throughout Halloween.

Here is the official trailer:
JEN: Emerita, what is your costume going to be this year? Wait, before you answer, here’s the abbreviated list of monsters you WON’T be:
*Drunk Miley Cyrus
*Post Bruce Jenner
*Conjoined twins in any combination
*Sober Miley Cyrus
*Actual-size giraffe

STEVE (looking up from the Siamese twin-giraffe costume I’m sewing): “Hun, that sounds really restrictive. I’m sure our fifth-grader has made a thoughtful decision pertaining to her costume choice – probably something whimsical. Emerita, what are you going as this Halloween?

EMERITA: A zombie cheerleader. Do we have any ketchup-blood for my pom-poms?

STEVE: See, Jen? I told you it’s all in fun. Emerita, stop looking at the cats like they’re zombie appetizers.

JEN: I’ll give you both 3-5 minutes to change your minds or I will assign you a character. Now Emerita, will you be attending any Halloween parties this month? I don’t want you bobbing for apples. You know how competitive your sister is – the girl passed out at the middle school Teeny Halloweeny trying to catch crabapples – plural – in her mouth. She almost drowned. It’s a miracle she passed out just a few seconds, thanks to the resuscitation efforts by that teenage lifeguard.

EMERITA: That was a costume and he asked her for a date while she was still sputtering.

JEN: I always wondered about that. Anyhow, whatever you go trick-or-treating as, you’ll need reflective tape. Headlights aren’t going to reflect back into drivers’ faces by themselves. Did you get the narrow strips or the wide strips? The wide ones reflect more.

STEVE: It’s 5pm. Cripes, the sun is still out. Last year four kids in the neighborhood got sunburned while trick-or-treating. Besides, the reflective tape would cover most of her costume. She’d look like a mummy at a rave.

JEN: What about flashlights? We’ll each carry three and Emerita can wear a miner’s helmet with one of those super-intense lights like the Navy SEALS use underwater.

STEVE: We’re already illuminated more than the Nubble lighthouse. I say we head to the rich neighborhoods first, before that glow-in-the-dark potion you sprayed all over us comes alive. That’s where we – I mean, Emerita – will score the meter-long Charleston Chews, full-size Snickers and outlawed black-market Jawbreakers. Oh, if I find that some weirdo slipped candy with coconut into your bag, we’ll strip the wrappers off and leave them out for diabetic squirrels.

JEN: Can you behave this year? Last year you spent Halloween zig-zagging through the neighborhood drinking like it was the last Mardi Gras before Prohibition. Just because every other homeowner offers you shots, doesn’t mean you have to accept Every. Single. One.

Speaking of behaving, your brother Bruce – and you know I love him – is a demon. Who hides behind a giant oak tree by the Desantises’ then lunges out shrieking like a deranged coyote – scaring every trick-or-treater in east Methuen two-thirds to death? Who does that?

STEVE: Someone celebrating Halloween with gusto. And with Heineken. We’re all grateful Justin’s heartrate eventually stabilized. And the real coyotes called off their courting prowl when Bruce pelted them with party size 3 Musketeers bars.
EMERITA: I don’t want to trick-or-treat at that girl’s house down the dirt road. I heard she’s a goblin. She lives with her goblin siblings. I don’t care if they give out wheelbarrows of Reese’s peanut butter cups, that family scares me – and zombie cheerleaders don’t scare easily. Hey, where are you two going?

JEN & STEVE (sprinting down the dirt road toward the house of goblins): You had us at wheelbarrow and Reese’s!