I hunched the leather up over my neck, contending as best I could with the drizzle. I stepped through the parking lot toward the pizza, pleased to have the time to go with the inclination, and jacket enough to keep me nearly dry as I moved toward it.

Others were a few strides ahead of me, and being girls, they had an umbrella. One held that wide green shield over her and her little sister, and the mother trailed them in the damp with quiet pride. Knowing when I'm outnumbered, I slacked my pace so as not to run them down.

The youngest - let's say about ten years of age - was just a bit worshipful of her elder sister, to judge from the chatter as they walked. That elder - let's say about thirteen for her - was just a bit over self-absorbed, and at that gawky stage between shooting up and filling out. Her walk was that of a baby giraffe just discovering the length of her legs, and I halved my pace again to compensate.

Dropping my head further to let the slow rain drip off me, my eyes went to the pavement, and I discovered part of the problem. It's that season again, and I could only guess the pizza joint was giving the local youth a chance to wear their costumes in safety. At least, when I see a thirteen year old tottering along in calf-high black-leather high-heeled boots, I have to assume that it's a costume. Particularly when paired with fishnets.

Honey, your mother is standing right there.

Despite my best efforts, we all reached the door at the same time. Mommy pulled it open, the ten-year old skipped ahead, and I contributed a gentlemanly longarm grab to catch the door and open it to its fullest.

Thirteen-year-old went to breeze through the door - and stumbled back, foiled by the physics of taking a four-foot umbrella straight at a three-foot door. She fumbled vigorously with the catch, the umbrella stayed open - thump it went right into the door again.

The third time, with her mother's help, she collapsed the umbrella enough to - once again straight on - coax it through the doorway. For the first time, she acknowledged my patiently holding the door, tossing her wig as she spoke to me, in the character she'd been practicing for who knows how long.

"It's okay - I'm a blonde."

Her nose rose slightly in the air, and she walked through, pleased with herself. Her mother - guess the hair color - smiled at me and followed her, still radiating what seemed like pride.

I stood there as unmoving as a doorstop, rain trailing under my collar, for a few extra seconds to allow them all time to get inside and get well clear. Thinking of the future of my neighborhood, and ultimately, that of the planet.

It's been quite a long time since I was that frightened at Halloween.