Judging the amount of candy you're going to need for Halloween is a dark art.
It's always iffy and scary.
Yesterday, I got a frantic call from my daughter who had three little monsters to dress for Trick-or-Treating at school and in the neighborhood and at various events and couldn't get to the store.
No problem except I'd just finished my own last-minute run even though I thought I'd bought plenty early on.
I panicked mid-afternoon.
I had these visions of hordes of little spooks coming to the door and finding an empty bowl. I saw myself combing the cupboards for a forgotten sweet, maybe a stale cooky.
So off I went to Walmart to buy two more bags, telling myself I could always save it and use it for Christmas stockings if I bought carefully.
Then, for Kari, I headed to Costco for a great BIG bag of candy.
Both times, I was extraordinarily nervous on the drive over.
I imagined everybody in town doing the same thing and everybody fighting over one last bag.
My heart beat fast and I hurried in, glancing suspiciously at the people on all sides of me. I hustled.
There! The prize!
I grabbed my sugar-loaded treats and headed for the check-out counter.
I was going to be all right.
Later, when the doorbell began to ring I was a little miserly. I gave each ghoul and witch and zombie one Tootsie Roll, one Hershey's snack-size bar, one sucker.
Marc, on the other hand, was generous.
He liberally handed over several sweets at a time.
"What are you doing?" I gasped as the candy level dropped rapidly.
"Oh, they're so cute," he said.
"One, just one!" I said. "I don't want to run out."
So it is now that Halloween's over and I have about four bags of candy left.
It's way too much to have about when there's a sweet-tooth grandma loose in the house.
And I can't save it for next year because it'll get old and it'll never be enough. I just know it.
2 years ago