It was a gorgeous, warm night last night. Strudel’s wig fell off, after which I told her she could tell people she was Sarah from Orphan Black.

We ran into a big gaggle of people and I saw it was led by this blowhard from the girls’ school who makes me insane. He was stage-fathering his daughter in a ten minute kindergarten play, stage whispering her lines at her. He’s one of those people who reminds me of jackwagons I knew in high school who were always surrounded by others of their kind, always the center of attention, always the loudest. There’s always that guy when you grow up and have children of your own.

His wife, who seems saner, was with him and she was jiggling a mug at us as they passed by.

“Hee hee, I’m drinking,” she announced to us.

P. and I, hardened misanthropes, collectively rolled our eyes, because these people make us regress 20 years.

“Who caaares,” he said, just loud enough.

“YEAH!” I said, and knocked over a trash can. Okay, I did not do that. I pulled my flask out and offered it to him. We have been drinking for the past eight years of trick-or-treating with no fanfare. WHOOPIE, take out a billboard.

Okay, that was grumpier than I intended. OH WELL.