Trick-or-Treating 2016: The Rules

Halloween is almost here. My husband and I have noticed that in the last few years we’ve been getting quite a lot of–ahem—older trick-or-treaters. Like practically college age.

So we’ve come up with some rules this year that we’d like the kids to follow.

If you can drive yourself—you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

If you shave daily–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

If you are taller than my husband, who is over 6 feet tall, unless you’re the child of Shaquille O’Neal–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

If your voice sounds like Peter Brady’s in the “time to change” episode of “The Brady Bunch,” then come on by. But if your voice sounds like the late crooner Barry White–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

If you’re dressed up like an NFL player, and you look like you could actually be one–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

If you’re a teenaged girl and are dressed like a member of the world’s oldest profession– you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

But if you really are dressed like that, and I ask you what you are dressed as, don’t use the words, uh, slut or whore. It’s Halloween, for crying out loud, and most of the kids going out for treats are little. Unlike you. You are too old to be trick-or-treating. Since you insist on doing so, though, use a better word. Tell me you’re a floozie. If you don’t know what that means, trust me; it’s the same thing. Or close enough.

If you have a job–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house. Go buy your own stinkin’ candy.

If you’re dressed like a princess, but you’re wearing the gown that you wore to last spring’s prom–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

If you can legally vote in the upcoming election–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house.

And finally, if you have your own kids–you’re too old to be trick-or-treating at my house. You should be taking your kids out. But don’t have your own bag. I mean, c’mon.

Despite all our rules, my other half and I know that we’re beaten. We know that without a doubt, we’ll get SUVs full of high school seniors wearing no costumes and holding pillowcases or blue plastic bags, barely mumbling “trick-or-treat.”

So will we whip out a copy of these rules and read them aloud to the miscreants? No.

Will we ask them for ID to ascertain their ages?

Not likely.

Will we—gasp—refuse to give them the precious candy they desperately seek?

Sigh…no again.

Why, you may ask? It’s quite simple: most of the kids are bigger than I am, and I don’t want my house egged or my car soaped.

And hubby and I will both be sporting our annual costumes. You’ll be able to pick us out because we’ll be the ones dressed as wimps.

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Happy Halloween!