Halloween is almost upon us which means businesses across the country have lost countless man-hours as workers incessantly search the Internet for the perfect costume. When I was a kid, adults didn’t worry about their costumes, because Halloween was basically just for children. If there is one thing certain about the Baby Boomers, however, it is that they refuse to grow up. There should be about 100 million Peter Pans flying around this year.

Today, Halloween seems to be the holiday in which young women channel their inner pole dancers. They parade around as wanton nurses, wanton princesses, wanton pirate wenches, and wanton Wonder Women. Halloween now has more cleavage than the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders and that whole “trick or treat” thing is beginning to take on an entirely new meaning.

I don’t stress about my costume; and I don’t shell out big bucks for one either. I like to go with what I got in the closet. Last year, I went to the Social Graces Halloween dance as a baseball player, because I had everything I needed except a game jersey, which I borrowed. My persona excited no attention whatsoever, however, because I don’t think anyone saw it as unusual for me to be dressed that way, which I take as a compliment. Martha went as a flapper, which is perfect for a dance and, indeed, several ladies showed up as flappers. This year, I think Martha is going as “not a flapper.” I think she’s going as a human resource manager, which for costume efficiency, you can’t beat. Plus, many people find human resources scary, so it’s perfect for Halloween.

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I would like to say “trick or treat” to all my readers in the following fashion: I could use a little inspiration for the Five Minute Fiction For Free series. I’ve published 15 stories so far, which at one a month is pretty good if I do say so myself, but I could use some help. How about if you give me a character or two or ten, along with a situation in which they find themselves? If you treat me to your idea, I promise not to come over trick you. Or to show up on your doorstep dressed as a wanton baseball player.