TED CRUZ HANDS OUT CANDY TO TRICK-OR-TREATERS ON HALLOWEEN BY E. KRISTIN ANDERSON

Ted Cruz Hands Out Candy to Trick-or-Treaters on Halloween

and remembers the days when he didn’t have to worry about his house getting egged. One year the kids up the street cited a purportedly old and well-loved rule in re: “if you don’t give us candy we reserve the right to pull pranks” as they joyfully threw little yolk grenades at his windows. There were some other, less traditional epithets that they shouted as well. Ted knows he’s not exactly Mr. Popular. But he also doesn’t think that he should be required to provide snacks for kids he doesn’t even know just because they put on a costume. Tiny little freeloaders. Ted knows that the kid with a sheet over his head isn’t an actual ghost. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Witches, maybe, but not ghosts. Ted opens the door to find two little girls dressed as Batman and the Joker and can’t help but roll his eyes as he hands them each exactly one box of yogurt-covered raisins. Tiny Batmangirl asks in a little voice if he’s a vampire. He raises an eyebrow, wondering who these children’s parents are—he looks up to see a woman his age waiting on the sidewalk, wearing a pointy wizard hat and a cloak. She waves. The girl in the wide, menacing Joker grin says, “Mr. Cruz, I like your costume.” Ted mumbles a thank-you and returns the wizard mom’s wave before hastily closing the door. Their parents are voters, he reminds himself as he eyes the candy corn in the living room. He considers asking his wife why so many children think he’s wearing a vampire costume. Instead he asks her to take over answering the door so he can take his shoes and tie off. As he delivers a fistful of candy corn into his mouth, he wonders if anyone really likes candy corn. Or if, like him, he eats it because it’s there. Eats it until he’s swallowed just enough to feel sick.