The Candy Caper

Where’s that porch thief when I need him?

The video shows a guy pilfering a home’s supply of Halloween candy right from the front porch. Effectively, if you will, denying lots of kids their due, but probably also preventing at least a few extra pounds (and dental visits).

What a jerk.

However, I need that guy.

On Halloween night, right after we’d had one hell of a cold spell, it had warmed up. My neighborhood, a nice burb close to the Colorado foothills, had cleaned the sidewalks. Warm air was back.

Last year I was home, which is very rare. I had the light on, and in a moment of equally-rare consideration for the kids, left my dentures in, so that I wouldn’t scare the holy shit out of them (and their parents) and thereby save the Snickers for myself.

Oh, what a difference a year makes.

This year I am battling about ten pounds of stress weight. Halloween day I shot over to the local Safeway and bought a ten-dollar bag of bite-sized Snickers. The bowl sat next to the door, the door was wide open, and one hell of a good game was on Thursday Night Football.

Given the Broncos’ performance over the last few years, I am now a San Francisco fan, if for no other reason than I am intrigued by the Shanahan legacy (especially since Elway passed on him as our coach, oh my, how we can regret such decisions). At least Harbaugh is gone so that I can feel good about the team, and I am for one looking forward to not having to put up with whoever might be left from the 72 Dolphins to lift a glass yet again. Are any of those guys left? This story might answer that but it’s five years old. They may well be ghosts haunting the Pro Football Hall of Fame by now.

But I digress.

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Photo by Colton Sturgeon on Unsplash

Not a single kid showed.

By the evening’s end, I was stuck with the super-sized bowl of Snicker’s, and a bad stress habit of snacking on same.

Friday night I bagged those bad boys up and took them to dinner with my buddy Sonja.

“I don’t want them,” Sonja said, putting her hands up in horror. “Nobody came to our house either and we’re stuck with our own candy.”


I tried to leave the bag under the table. Just as we were making our way into the parking lot, the restaurant manager came tearing after us, and handed me my Snickers.

Well, shit. They don’t want them either.

Sonja and I cracked up.

This past weekend I caught the story about the candy thief. That was juxtaposed against this:

While I am deeply impressed with this kid (can we elect him President, please?) I have more immediate use for the porch candy thief.

I cannot give this stuff away.

Would someone give that guy my address? There’s a ten-dollar bag of Snickers just for him. Oh, and at Sonja’s house too.

Any time, buddy.

Oh, wait. He’s already in the White House.

But that’s another horror show entirely.

Written by

Horizon Huntress, prize-winning author, adventure traveler, boundary-pusher, wilder, veteran, aging vibrantly. I own my sh*t. Let’s play!

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