Ooooh, my ovaries!

There are many reasons to love living in an affluent neighbourhood full of young, attractive, upwardly-mobile families. It's safe, the lawns are well cared for, and there's always a good chance the man in front of you on the sidewalk is carrying a Snugli on his chest.

Tonight, however, our charming little burg endeared itself to me as never before. It's Hallowe'en, which around here is nothing less than a magnificent holiday spun through a theme park and soaked in faux-goth kitsch. No kidding. Our neighbours to the left played creepy organ music and jumped out at children, while those across the street erected the most elaborate torch set-up I'd seen since the first season of Survivor. Trick-or-treaters traipsed through the streets, high on sugar and excitement. We, of course, forgot to light our jack-o-lantern until a few hours after dark and, when we finally remembered, welcomed kids to our slightly-sketchy-but-not-at-all-scary front porch.

And oh! The children! Little pumpkins and princesses and a hilarious wee brick of Swiss cheese! And there were loads of them, unlike the weak turnout I welcomed to my Elliot Lake building and my ghetto Kingston pads. I feel satisfied, as if my latent maternal wistfulness has been quelled. And , thankfully, our econo-pack of Hershey mini-bars is gone, saved from certain doom in the chasm of my weak-willpowered belly.

In short, everything is great tonight. How can the world be a bad place when eighteen-month-old urchins dress in chicken costumes?