Trick or Treat

It was Halloween night in the Chicago suburb of Arlington Heights. My great-uncle, a middle-aged man at the time, was home handing candy out to trick-or-treaters.

The doorbell sounded, he opened the door, and there stood a beautiful little angel of about four years old, with big blue cornflower eyes and golden ringlets. “Trick or Treat,” she excitedly yelled up to the old man, my great-uncle, standing in the doorway.

Her mother, keeping watch from the street, waited for her little angel to hurry up and get her goodies so she could get home to a hot bath and the latest Dynasty episode.

“Well, aren’t you the prettiest little angel…I think I’ll give you something special, instead of the typical candy,” my great-uncle was sweetly saying. Opening her sack of treats to receive her prize, he dropped a shiny, perfectly shaped apple into the little girl’s bag.

Looking up at him with her large, innocent, round eyes, this sweet little angel thanked my great-uncle by saying:
“You dumb shit, you broke all my cookies!”