Department 56 is the devil incarnate.
It has claimed the soul of my dearly demented husband and has whispered sweet nothings in his ear so that he thinks the true road to happiness lies between the lit-up eerie houses of the tiny Halloween village perched upon our living room coffee table. But our collection didn't, and hasn't (thanks to the wonders of Ebay), stopped there. We have a direct artist reproduction of the Great Pumpkin sitting inconveniently on my drawing desk (I admit that we did have to wipe off a fine layer of dust before placing the Peanuts gang on their new home, though) and the Haunted Mansion, complete with trick-or-treating Disney characters frozen in porcelin mock fright on my gorgeous hand-painted entry table.
Everywhere are little houses, tiny skeletons, little hearses (or "hursts" as my "thank God he's got a cute ass" hubby would say) and miniature bats. We've invested in shrunken trees that light up, glitter encrusted ones with bright orange leaves, and two that even look like Candy Corn.
I am starting to develop a case of Lilliputian Anxiety.
Why so early with all the Halloweenie fun?
Well, number one, I have a very impatient significant other (we'll chronicle THAT one later) and he's like a kid in a toy story when he, well, gets new toys. He has and will arrange, and rearrange the village multiple times, asking me in mid-conversation, "So, um, do you think Mickey should go over with the Laghosti Theater or near the Undertaker's house? Should I just leave him where he is? Oh, and we need more adaptors..." I just nod and smile and be happy that at least, for now, he has moved on from his last obsession : He-man and Skeletor.
BY THE POWER OF GREY SKULL!
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