There I am, minding my own business, engrossed in a book, the internet or the TV, and the door goes.
I open it to be faced with the horrific prospect of a small child, begging.
- for food I don't have.
With its parent hiding in the shadows on the kerbside.
I mean, what do you do?
My mother gives them apples, knowing that is the last thing they want, but thinking it is the best thing for them.
Me? I don't even have apples. And I can hardly hand out individual blueberries, can I?
The one year I bought Celebrations, the doorbell didn't go once and I spent the evening eating them myself (thankfully it was before I got a meter and the damage was unrecorded)
So, like
@bulkbiker I will draw the curtains, turn out the lights and avoid the front room - hiding from the monsters
