Suburban Chicago, October 31, 1967. I revisit my favorite costume.
My paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, sewed a white, trick-or-treating tote to match the costume. I dragged the tote through the puddles as my Best Friend and I walked around the neighborhood late in the afternoon that Halloween. When I got home, Tatjana and my Mom saw that the bag—and the candy I'd collected—had been soaked. They threw everything away. I only got the remnants of what we'd bought to pass out to trick-or-treaters. The splendid variety of my haul was gone, and I was left with one bag of Life Savers.
1 comment:
Tough break, but this is how you learn.
Great Flying Nun BTW.
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