I Am Not Nice

Despite my Pollyanna tendencies, deep down there is a Dark Side. Like I can be Luke Skywalker on his worst day. Where these urges come from... all I can say is the Devil makes me do it.

Halloween for example. (Or is it okay for parents to traumatize their own kid?) I terrorized our youngest son by staging a haunted house for his older brother's October birthday. Our youngest was a baby - under two - when he saw a whole herd of party goers led into the basement never to return. All he heard was the screaming. (We had them exit through a basement door to the back porch where apple-bobbing, cake, and hot spiced cider awaited them.) Even though he saw them on the porch, to this day he believes that his dad and I fed the youngsters to the furnace.

So what was I up to yesterday? I decided to make a scarecrow using an old costume and a hideous door decoration. Tripped by a motion sensor, the skull on the door plaque belts out a James Brown version of I'm a Soul Man. Cute. Anyway the scarecrow looks like this:

And when he breaks into song - loudly, I might add - the face looks like this:

That ought to scare the bejeesus out of our trick-or-treaters. Especially when it gets dark and you can barely see the Soul Man. Awfully perverse, isn't it?