Jeez, I noticed I was getting a little heavy handed. Like maybe I think too much. I’m a blonde for crying out loud... I should know how to lighten up.

So, every year at Halloween I hang the talking skull on a window crank under the window next to the front door. Just when the sunlight hits him right, he talks to me – actually, he YELLS at me: Where are you going? And, I jump a foot into the air and grab at my heart. Every year, I feel like an idiot, because he got me again! I never fail to answer him just to calm my nerves: “I’m going to the fucking grocery store, okay?”

It’s like some scene from an annual family gathering with the grandpa or uncle with the bad jokes and usual lines:

“What d’ya know?”

“Not much.”

“They don’t teach you much in school, do they?”

or

"Grandpa! This is a one way!"

"I'm only going one way, aren't I?"

Every year the same predictable conversations, only I couldn’t use the “f” word like I can with skullie.

What worries me is the unnatural attachment I develop by the time it is time to take him down and put up the Christmas decorations. He is endearing and I place him tenderly into the storage box and explain that I will see him next year, as though turning his button to off means that I am pulling the plug. Maybe I should buy a talking Santa to replace him or decorate the skull with a red hat and white beard and call him the Skullie of Christmas past. But then, enough time needs to pass for him to surprise me again, because if I left him up, maybe I would come to ignore him or take him for granted, like a sad marriage. And so, the relationship begins again – year after year. For now, skullie is watching me, wide-eyed, waiting for me to come just close enough to yell at me.