As a parent, there are countless things to be afraid of. But monsters and zombies and expensive vinyl outfits that rip as you take them out of their packaging are pretty far down the list. (They didn’t even make my list.)
I made a new list of things that I, as the parent of a six-year-old and a baby, find much scarier than Halloween.
Seven Things Scarier Than Halloween
- Colic – I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
- Walking By One of Those Shitty Balloon/Toy/Italian Ice Vendors – It always pops or breaks or melts immediately, but they always have to have one, and when you say no, they go ballistic, so every once in a while you give in, and then it pops or breaks or melts and they go ballistic. Have kids they said.
- Decaf Coffee – “Decaf or regular?” How dare you! You see my two kids over there, right? So was that a joke? You’d better hope that was a joke. I’ve ended friendships over less. There goes your tip. Bring a beer too.
- Missing the Bus – I walk Detective Munch to the bus at 7:20 every morning. If we miss it, I have to take him via the subway, which involves multiple trains, several arguments about using my phone to play games while riding the train, an interminable three-story walk between train stations, and another interminable hike through the school and up to his classroom which for some reason is on the 900th floor. I’d rather home-school than do that again so GET YOUR DAMN SHOES ON!
- “Caillou” – Or “Ninjago” or “Thomas the Tank Engine” or that terrible Strange Magic movie my son was briefly obsessed with. These excruciating shows and movies haunt my dreams. Thank god he still loves Yellow Submarine.
- Daylight Saving Time – Not only is it depressingly dark when you get up and depressingly dark when you leave work, the first week or two after the change (coming next weekend!) makes you feel like a vampire except not sexy and you wish you could die.
- Emptying the Diaper Genie – This should probably #1. Every time I pull out and tie up the sack of (hopefully dried) feces we collect in the corner of our bedroom, I live in fear of it tearing open. If that ever happens, I will need months of counseling for my PTSD. If any gets on me? Just shoot me in the face. It’s over. There’s no coming back from that.
What scares you? Visit my Facebook page and let me know!