The first Halloween after we moved to Chicago, we didn’t know whether to expect any trick-or-treaters. Our place was a third-floor walk-up.

Nothing happened, until finally the doorbell rang, “Trick or Treat!” and we buzzed them in.

Three young teen lads tromped up the stairs to our door, where we saw they were in normal street clothes, but looked like they’d been slimed (as they say in Ghostbusters).

I said, what are you guys supposed to be?

They looked at each other and said, “We’re a mess!”

They got all our candy.

(They told us they’d just been attacked by kids throwing eggs – ah, youth.)