Hallow's Eve Obsession

Every year it's the same thing. Last minute panic. Late night runs to the big box stores, trolling the second hand joints, even scouring Craigslist for used costumes. Every year Don swears he'll be better organized. He comes up with the best ideas November 1st. Come the following October, he can't figure out where the time went. An interesting, unique costume idea for a 6'5", 28 year-old is harder than one would think. Don's vowed to never repeat the same idea twice. Well, Marla vowed. On Don's behalf. To be honest, Don could care less about the whole shebang. The free candy is awesome but he stopped trick or treating when he sprouted to 6'2 at 12 years old. Mrs. Hamm reamed him out as Frankenstein that year, calling him all kinds of unrepeatable names, accusing him of being an adult in disguise. No matter the protestations she steadfastly refused to believe it was little ginger Donny from three doors down. It didn't help that he couldn't remove his mask. Don's mom wasn't home to help him dress so Bert safety pinned the mask to his shirt. Keep the darn thing from rocking and rolling all over his head. Yet another win for mom's on-again off-again excuse of a boyfriend. The full face coverage and voice distorter only made things worse. Poor Mrs. Hamm. Don was sure she'd pop a vein in her forehead and that her cheeks would actually explode. He'd never seen someone turn bright red before from screaming. Veins bulging in her neck, spittle forming at the corners of her mouth. Don was stunned and cowed so he froze with his pillowcase held out open in front of him. When Mrs. Hamm dumped a pitcher of sweet tea in his bag Don snapped out of his paralysis, turned tail and ran. Lesson learned. The giant twelve year old man-child was done with Halloween. On their fifth date while screening Bela Lugosi's Dracula for the third consecutive time, as Marla monologued about the origins and importance of All Hallows Eve, Don knew he was sunk. Her double degrees in both Masters of Horror and Women in Film should have been a dead giveaway. Six years later and it's the same pattern. Marla plans and prepares, decorates the flat, stocks the candy bowls, carves a family of jack o'lanterns. Every year she is dumbfounded by Don's lack of preparation. He's come to think of it as their schtick now, part of their relationship history. Marla's never really disappointed. She's so wrapped up in her own production that Don wonders if she's relieved he drops the ball so he doesn't hone in on her spotlight. He's thinking of dressing up like Jimmy Stewart in Rear Window and handing out candy in character, propped up in a wheelchair on the porch with binoculars glued to his face. A way to see while not be seen. Marla can run the show and as usual, he can observe her from a distance.