Boo!

Halloween is coming, and along with the "ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night," are some pretty scary things out there.

Witches don't scare me. The older I get, the meaner I get and they're probably afraid of me now. At least I hope so. I find that being curmudgeonly and outspoken is kinda fun.

It's scary how fast time flies. It seems that once you get over the hill you start picking up speed. At my age, moving fast isn't an option; time oughta slow down too.

I've noticed that when I'm applying makeup, I tend to look upward, and I don't look too bad then, between that and fresh makeup. But if I reapply lipstick in the car and my head ducks a little, I'm scared half to death by that old crone with the beginning of a turkey wattle staring back at me. Who is that old broad anyway?

Losing my mind scares me. Not that there's much of it there. I have trouble remembering simple things, but no problem at all recalling song lyrics from 50 years ago. But isn't it funny how when you bump into an old classmate you haven't seen in years how old they look compared to you? Scary isn't it?

I have never seen a ghost, but I know people who say they have and I find it intriguing. I wanna be a ghost someday and play the kind of tricks they must be playing on me. Like hiding my car keys right in plain sight, moving my car from one end of the parking lot to another when I'm not looking, and sneaking into my closet and altering my clothes so that they no longer fit. The really evil ones move the darts on my blouses and make the bustline impossibly high.

I find it scary that all cars look pretty much alike to me, but I can tell a 1952 Ford from a 1954 Ford. I remember Studebakers and Hudsons. But I have trouble remembering — well, you know — I can't recall, oh, hell! Where was I going with this?

It's frightening to realize that people forever young in my memory are now eligible for Social Security — Annette Funicello is 65. She has Mickey Mouse ears older than my boss! Bill Wyman of the Rolling Stones is 71, for heaven's sake.

So while kids are creeping each other out with fake teeth, I need a map to remember where I put my partials. While they dress up with fright wigs, I resign myself to the fact that long hair draws attention to wrinkles and lines and a short do brings the eye upward and away from the lines but toward the crow's feet. And forget about the scary blackbirds and crows: I'm dodging vultures!

Time has nothing on Halloween. Time is all trick and no treat. Well, except for black cats. And chocolate.