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So this incredibly hot teenage witch just showed up at my door with the black lace cleavage thing going on and a pack of cigarettes in her hand, while her friend dressed as a (?) with a bag for the two of them did the actual trick or treating. And now I know for sure where I draw the line, because in the past I would have used the "Don't you dare you're married" rationalization but obviously that doesn't apply when your wife is off at some Halloween party and planning to sleep with some guy on his boat after that.
So the witchy hottie is petting Scratch, the neighbor's cat who thinks she's ours (she's full grown but forever will pass as a kitten, kind of like me) and I explain to her how we get all the love with none of the vet bills or food cost and I give some extra candy to her friend because they only have one bag between them after all. I realize, however, that a crush on a crazy twenty-four year old a continent away is probably as far as I can or should go.
I go back to drinking a really nice $7.50 chianti by myself, playing with all of the beautiful motion blurs, and looking forward to bringing all this damn candy (of which I've eaten none so far) into work on Monday and looking like a good boss.
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