It sounds like a horrible romance novel gone awry on the Death Star. But in fact, it's Halloween night at my house.
Wesley was bound and determined to be Darth Vader and with some divine intervention, we managed to find the last Darth costume in his size at Walmart. The earlier Darth was mislabeled as a medium youth but in reality was a medium adult--thank you Party City for adding to my stress level.
Regan knew from the get go that she wanted to be a princess so we bought her costume two weeks ago and now it was too small. But that was okay with Ray. Throw some cheap flashing tiara on her head and she was ready to rule us minions.
As usual, they got candy galore from our neighborhood. Wesley said thank you in his Darth Vader voice (which was a scratchy version of his whiny voice) and Regan kept forgetting to thank her "subjects" for the candy. By the time we were ready to go home, she had the funky royal wave down. You know, picture Queen Elizabeth waving like she's screwing in a lightbulb.
The pumpkins were a challenge to carve. Every year Wesley thinks up new ways to showcase our meager carving skills. This year one jack o'lantern was an imitation of Dave's (and my) college days. The pumpkin was throwing up pumpkin goo. Oh, those were the days.
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