We didn’t have a single trick-or-treater last night and now all this candy is sitting in a bowl, just staring at me.

I suspect Halloween is out of style ’round these parts. That, or I don’t live on a street that looks candy-worthy. Maybe a little of both.

This was my Perfect Grandson’s first Halloween, but as he’s four months old, sans teeth, and can’t even crawl, the holiday was a little lost on him. My daughter stuffed him into a dinosaur costume and he promptly fell asleep. It’s a good thing he did, because I’d have burned his little retinas to a cinder with the camera flash. I never miss an opportunity.

So where are all the trick-or-treaters? Did all my curmudgeon retiree neighbors run them off? Maybe our local Bible Belt tightened a notch and kept the holiday at bay. Who knows. I’ll fight the urge to throw down a lengthy “in my day we trick-or-treated the hippies” rant. You don’t really care what what costume I wore when I was five, anyway.

Next year the Perfect Grandson should have teeth and land-legs and everything. We’re going to find some hippies and trick-or-treat them, by God.