That is the number of pumpkins our household has to procure in order to be competitive pumpkin displayers in our neighborhood. Fifteen.
That may seem an exorbitant amount of pumpkins, particularly for a household of three, but that is where the bar has been set. Anything less would be admitting defeat. After all, would you rather be remembered as the Pumpkin House with the mind-blowing fifteen pumpkin display, or as... yeah... there was this other house with some pumpkins, too...
Which would you rather be? A discreet appreciator of little "h" halloween, or the Life of the Neighborhood?
I can't let another Halloween (notice the "H") pass by without some whooping and howling and pumpkin carving! No! But... I also can't help but wonder if this sudden desire for pumpkins, pumpkins, More Pumpkins, isn't rooted deep in my childhood. Perhaps, by peeling back the mists of time and examiniOHGODWHATISTHATTHING?!?
Anyway... pumpkins whisk me back to a time of innocence, when my only enemy was my younger brother and little boys would show little girls you how far they could pee and little girls would laugh and point, but secretly wish they could also pee long distance. We would go to the pumpkin patch every year and get some marvelous great pumpkins of curious shapes and sizes. Dad would invariably cut up some loony faces; Brother the Enemy and I would slice out the triangle eyes and block teeth that every small child everywhere considers the apex of pumpkin creativity. Then we'd cook up the pumpkin seeds, put the pumpkins on the porch and light 'em up. Spooooooky...
It's different now. It's all keeping-up-the-the-Joneses now, with bigger and more elaborate pumpkin displays erected every year. It's not innocence and magic; it's an annual Pump-Off. (Admit it; pornographic images just swirled through your head. That's because you're a pervert. It's not your fault, though. You would never act on that fantasy, never.) I'd advocate a return to simpler times, with a mere two to five pumpkin showing, but then the thirteen pumpkin house would win.
We can't have that. There is a crown to be won, a crown for the hardest working, most dedicated Halloween purveyor of spirit, and it's shaped like an ass load of pumpkins.
Bring on the Pumpkins!
P.S. I don't actually think of my brother as The Enemy. I used to, though. I used to.
P.P.S. If you're reading this, Ian, do try to remember all those times I didn't beat you up. Those were great, huh? 'Cause now you're, like, 6'4 or something. Yeah. Good times...
That may seem an exorbitant amount of pumpkins, particularly for a household of three, but that is where the bar has been set. Anything less would be admitting defeat. After all, would you rather be remembered as the Pumpkin House with the mind-blowing fifteen pumpkin display, or as... yeah... there was this other house with some pumpkins, too...
Which would you rather be? A discreet appreciator of little "h" halloween, or the Life of the Neighborhood?
I can't let another Halloween (notice the "H") pass by without some whooping and howling and pumpkin carving! No! But... I also can't help but wonder if this sudden desire for pumpkins, pumpkins, More Pumpkins, isn't rooted deep in my childhood. Perhaps, by peeling back the mists of time and examiniOHGODWHATISTHATTHING?!?
Anyway... pumpkins whisk me back to a time of innocence, when my only enemy was my younger brother and little boys would show little girls you how far they could pee and little girls would laugh and point, but secretly wish they could also pee long distance. We would go to the pumpkin patch every year and get some marvelous great pumpkins of curious shapes and sizes. Dad would invariably cut up some loony faces; Brother the Enemy and I would slice out the triangle eyes and block teeth that every small child everywhere considers the apex of pumpkin creativity. Then we'd cook up the pumpkin seeds, put the pumpkins on the porch and light 'em up. Spooooooky...
It's different now. It's all keeping-up-the-the-Joneses now, with bigger and more elaborate pumpkin displays erected every year. It's not innocence and magic; it's an annual Pump-Off. (Admit it; pornographic images just swirled through your head. That's because you're a pervert. It's not your fault, though. You would never act on that fantasy, never.) I'd advocate a return to simpler times, with a mere two to five pumpkin showing, but then the thirteen pumpkin house would win.
We can't have that. There is a crown to be won, a crown for the hardest working, most dedicated Halloween purveyor of spirit, and it's shaped like an ass load of pumpkins.
Bring on the Pumpkins!
P.S. I don't actually think of my brother as The Enemy. I used to, though. I used to.
P.P.S. If you're reading this, Ian, do try to remember all those times I didn't beat you up. Those were great, huh? 'Cause now you're, like, 6'4 or something. Yeah. Good times...
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