I like Halloween, I hate Thanksgiving

I just saw somebody blogging about how they hate Halloween. Everybody is entitled to their opinion. Me, I like Halloween. Always have. Even when it was miserable. I remember dragging my tired self along miles of unlit roads in icy cold rain until my hands were numb and my nose was leaking like a faucet. The only costume that could provide any comfort was the arctic explorer or the Eskimo, and George Riley always took both of those by putting on his winter coat and ski goggles. That usually left me as a ghost or a vampire or something else that could get really really cold.

I didn't complain though. Getting cold and exhausted was the price of free candy. It was an active demonstration that the things you value most have to be earned. Like hot soup or chilli after the cold. Like all of that wonderful candy. And of course, there are the priceless stories of hardship I now get to flog my own children with whenever they feel that they have it tough.

But I hate Thanksgiving. It's a miserable excuse for a holiday. Not that I'm ungrateful. Or at least, not peculiarly ungrateful. I just don't really enjoy food and really hate the work that goes into preparing it and getting ready to share it with others. See, it's not that I'm ungrateful--just that I'm horribly selfish.

The whole idea of celebrating the plenty that the universe has bestowed on us seems like a good idea to me. It's not that part I object to. Shouldn't you do that every day anyway? But I hate the foods. Turkey? Uhg. Well, I guess I like Turkey Bacon. Dressing? Yuk. Sweet Potatoes? I hate them. Cranberry sauce? No thanks.

And the pilgrims? Screw the pilgrims.

Anyway, I like Halloween and I hate Thanksgiving. That's just me. You go ahead and like or dislike whatever you want.