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Authors: Erma Bombeck
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from the door, “Quick! Give me some treats.”
“I told you I don't have aniything left. The refrigerator is cleancd out. So are the snacks. What do you think they would do if you offered them a raw potato?”
He peeked through the curtain and viewed two motorcycle freaks wearing sleeveless leather vests with no shirt and a helmet with a horn coming out of either side. “I think they would turn my nose inside out.”
Crawling into the children's bedroom, we felt around in the darkness until we found their little orange trick or treat bags. We grabbed a few handfuls of taffy to appease the motorcycle gang.
Later, crouched in the hallway, the children's bags between us, my husband looked at his watch. “It's 11:30,” he said. “Do we dare turn off the porch light?”
“I don't think so,” I said tiredly. “It's too risky. The Mintons turned their lights off early last year and a group stole their garage. How much longer do you think we can hold out?”
“I don't know. How much ammunition do we have left?”
My fingers deftly counted out the bubble gum, the miniature candy bars, an apple with a bite out of it, and a few loose pieces of Halloween corn. “With luck, two or three hours.”
We both sat up stiffly as the doorbell rang.
“I love you,” I said simply without emotion.
“I know,” he whispered.
The Identity Crisis
You would have thought with five thousand people living in Suburbian Gems that we would have had an identity problem. This was just not true.
As I told my husband, “All you have to do is to reach out to people and the warmth is there.”
“I don't have time to socialize,” he said. “I work. I cut grass. I watch a little TV and I go to bed so I can get up tomorrow and start all over again.”
“And you're missing the entire concept of rural living,” I said. “That of getting to know one another on a personal basis. Today is Saturday. Why don't you go down and borrow Lawnsweeper no. 1's charcoal starter for the party we are having this evening?”
“Is he the one next to the pot-bellied stove on the porch?”
“That's Lawnsweeper no. 2 and you know it. Besides, the stove was stolen last Halloween. No, Lawnsweeper no. 1 lives next to the faulty muffler.”
“Oh him.”
“I know, but his wife's nice.”
“What's her name?”
“She's the size 18 1/2 with five garbage cans.”
“Why didn't you say so. Incidentally, did you invite the guy who saves his anti-freeze each year?”
“Had to. I invited the people with the air conditioner in their bedroom window and they live right next door to one another.”
“That would be awkward.”
“I only hope they get along with the super liberals.”
“What super liberals?”
“The ones who live two blocks over next to the kid who sets fires.”
“How do you know they are super liberals?”
“You know that little black jockey statue that has a ring in it to hitch a horse to? They painted him white.”
“I remember that. The rhubarb grower had a fit.”
“I've never trusted anyone who grows rhubarb.”
"Before I go, do we have anything we've borrowed from
Lawnsweepcr no. 1 and never returned? I'd feel like a fool asking to borrow something that's never been returned."
“You shoulcl feel like a fool. He's the one who borrowed our plunger and loaned it to the people with cats For sale.”
“They've had cats for sale since we lived here. Do you suppose it's the same cat?”
“I feel sorry for the new people who just moved in next door.”
“Who are they?”
“The Airstream people. What that little beauty doesn't have in it, they'll never need.”
“They must have money.”
“Wait until they find out they're wedged in between cats for sale and the people who let the plastic pool kill their grass.”
“I remember him. Met him at a party at the house with the nut who flew the flag on John Wayne's birthday.”
“How could you forget them? They own that big Doberman who hides his head in your crotch
“I told you I don't have aniything left. The refrigerator is cleancd out. So are the snacks. What do you think they would do if you offered them a raw potato?”
He peeked through the curtain and viewed two motorcycle freaks wearing sleeveless leather vests with no shirt and a helmet with a horn coming out of either side. “I think they would turn my nose inside out.”
Crawling into the children's bedroom, we felt around in the darkness until we found their little orange trick or treat bags. We grabbed a few handfuls of taffy to appease the motorcycle gang.
Later, crouched in the hallway, the children's bags between us, my husband looked at his watch. “It's 11:30,” he said. “Do we dare turn off the porch light?”
“I don't think so,” I said tiredly. “It's too risky. The Mintons turned their lights off early last year and a group stole their garage. How much longer do you think we can hold out?”
“I don't know. How much ammunition do we have left?”
My fingers deftly counted out the bubble gum, the miniature candy bars, an apple with a bite out of it, and a few loose pieces of Halloween corn. “With luck, two or three hours.”
We both sat up stiffly as the doorbell rang.
“I love you,” I said simply without emotion.
“I know,” he whispered.
The Identity Crisis
You would have thought with five thousand people living in Suburbian Gems that we would have had an identity problem. This was just not true.
As I told my husband, “All you have to do is to reach out to people and the warmth is there.”
“I don't have time to socialize,” he said. “I work. I cut grass. I watch a little TV and I go to bed so I can get up tomorrow and start all over again.”
“And you're missing the entire concept of rural living,” I said. “That of getting to know one another on a personal basis. Today is Saturday. Why don't you go down and borrow Lawnsweeper no. 1's charcoal starter for the party we are having this evening?”
“Is he the one next to the pot-bellied stove on the porch?”
“That's Lawnsweeper no. 2 and you know it. Besides, the stove was stolen last Halloween. No, Lawnsweeper no. 1 lives next to the faulty muffler.”
“Oh him.”
“I know, but his wife's nice.”
“What's her name?”
“She's the size 18 1/2 with five garbage cans.”
“Why didn't you say so. Incidentally, did you invite the guy who saves his anti-freeze each year?”
“Had to. I invited the people with the air conditioner in their bedroom window and they live right next door to one another.”
“That would be awkward.”
“I only hope they get along with the super liberals.”
“What super liberals?”
“The ones who live two blocks over next to the kid who sets fires.”
“How do you know they are super liberals?”
“You know that little black jockey statue that has a ring in it to hitch a horse to? They painted him white.”
“I remember that. The rhubarb grower had a fit.”
“I've never trusted anyone who grows rhubarb.”
"Before I go, do we have anything we've borrowed from
Lawnsweepcr no. 1 and never returned? I'd feel like a fool asking to borrow something that's never been returned."
“You shoulcl feel like a fool. He's the one who borrowed our plunger and loaned it to the people with cats For sale.”
“They've had cats for sale since we lived here. Do you suppose it's the same cat?”
“I feel sorry for the new people who just moved in next door.”
“Who are they?”
“The Airstream people. What that little beauty doesn't have in it, they'll never need.”
“They must have money.”
“Wait until they find out they're wedged in between cats for sale and the people who let the plastic pool kill their grass.”
“I remember him. Met him at a party at the house with the nut who flew the flag on John Wayne's birthday.”
“How could you forget them? They own that big Doberman who hides his head in your crotch
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