After a bountiful summer of farmer’s markets, and the harvest of backyard produce, Halloween marks the first true test of one’s resolve to maintain a healthy diet. 

Or to put it another way, Halloween candy is the sweet gateway drug, the culprit that anesthetizes summer’s willpower.  It can make you think, “Oh, what the heck? I ate so much candy that I might as well choose fries over sautéed veggies.” Slippery slope, indeed.
Halloween is over, so it must be … Christmas!  On Saturday, Oct. 31, the stores began the seasonal purge: out with all things orange and black, creepy and frightening, sweet and individually wrapped, and in with all things green and red, silver and blue, and jolly, silly, and sacred.

And now begins anew the dance of retail. They want our money, whether we have any or not. We do the credit tango, a very seductive succession of enticing arguments: “I must not! … I might.  I can’t! … I could. I won’t! … I shouldn’t … I will.”  And this year it’s especially hard to resist the passion of the retail tango when the economy needs whatever stimulation we can give. 
I have to admit that I enjoy going to shopping malls to absorb a bit of Christmas. But some of the malls have kiosks selling everything from hair extensions to bawdy body jewelry. And after you have had your hands washed in Sea Salts once, and perhaps purchased the product, you want to press on with the task at hand. I just don’t want to repeat, “No thanks” to people who don’t take “No thanks” for an answer.

So I offer these tried and true methods of avoidance. First, the cell phone decoy. I have imaginary conversations while my phone is pressed to my ear. “You were accepted? Oh, honey, I’m so happy for you!” Or perhaps, “It’s a boy? Tell me all the details!” I have even had imaginary fights over the phone, complete with an angry scowl. However, it is important to turn off the ringer on your cell phone!
The other thing I do is to pretend not to hear them saying “How are you today, Mam?” The really sly sales guys call me Miss, but I don’t fall for their flattery, at least not anymore. If I am trapped, I pretend to speak a language other than my own. I can fake a pretty good Gaelic, and I haven’t found a sales person on this side of the pond to challenge me.  
I have to remember that each person who wants to interrupt my shopping reverie is trying to earn their keep. They have bills to pay, kids to feed, gifts to buy. Secretly, I admire their courage. 

Ps. Tell Lenny or the boys that I’m out of Sea Salt Scrub.

Patty Luzzi has lived on the Eastside for 32 years. Readers can contact her at pattyluzzi@yahoo.com.