Trick-or-Treat Night

And, as I have done for the past 15 years that I have lived here, I am pretending I am not at home. No porch light, no inside lights: Pass by, young trick-or-treaters, for I have nothing to offer you but Kraft singles, which would surely turn to melty mush by the time you returned home with your goodie bags, anyway.

I am also not at home at The Lovely’s, where I have spent half the day dog-sitting.

And I managed to carve a punkin.

(Is it just me, or does this one resemble Conan O’Brien?)

This knife, my prized Coach Swiss Army knife, was going to do the carving honors ... until I dropped it on the concrete and bent the tip of the smaller blade (razzem frazzem!), thereby causing me concern for its precision ... so I went with the big Farberware knife (not sure which one it was, other than it was not the chef’s knife nor a steak knife nor the bread knife; I guess it was whichever knife was left).