Another Halloween has come, and I surprise nobody with my continued apathy.

Actually, that surprises a lot of people. "You don't like Halloween?" they ask, astounded and confounded. "But it's so fun! You get to dress up in costumes and eat candy and go to parties!"

Hey, that sounds great! Are you inviting me? Because no one else is. This may come as a shock to you, given the time I devote to chronicling minutiae on the Internet, but I'm not really cool or popular. Around the time people stopped trick-or-treating and started going to parties, I was practicing my saxophone and studying Greek roots. Popular kids don't invite that guy, and they haven't since, at least not consistently.

Then there's the candy. I love candy as much as the next guy, probably more (have you seen my waistline?). But once I was able to start growing a mustache, adults started to think maybe I was too old to be getting the candy, and that maybe I should go buy my own. That doesn't sound bad until you know I had said facial hair seedlings at age 13. Sure, by then I had an allowance, but the candy bar you buy yourself somehow isn't as sweet.

As for the big one: Call me a spoilsport, call me a wussy, call me whatever you want, but I just don't like playing dress-up. Never have. In fact, the last few years I hit the streets in the quest for free candy, my costumes were mostly things I had around the house. The Superman cape I had as a kid served double duty with a white shirt to become a vampire costume. My Pittsburgh Penguins jersey paired with inline skates and a 99-cent Jason mask made me a hockey player. It didn't make sense to me (and still doesn't) to spend money on something I would only wear once. I eventually got tired of doing the same thing, and just stopped trying.

Trendy costumes don't do it for me either. Last time I dressed up, I was a pirate, as were three others at the party I attended. I'd wanted to do something original, but poor planning, a swiftly-approaching deadline, and spousal appeasement meant it was Captain Hook or shave and be Prince Charming to her Cinderella. Since I wasn't willing to part with my beloved beard for Disney (at least not unless they paid me), I became the lamest pirate at the party. Other people wearing my costume was bad enough, but that theirs were so much better than mine really irked me. (On the plus side, Sed was Tinkerbell, who wears a much shorter skirt than Cindy.)

Don't get me wrong -- there's a lot I do like about Halloween. I like giving treats to the neighborhood kids. I like that it's one day out of the year when people trust each other and go knocking on random doors, even if it is motivated by free candy. And I really like carving pumpkins, letting my artistic side out through an inexpensive, disposable medium. But as a childless, friendless adult whose wife is too busy for fun, I don't see a reason to get into the rest of it.

I'm not sure I see that changing when Margarita comes, either. But I'm not about to deprive her of all the fun I had running around with my friends and sorting candy at the end of the night. It may be futile to improve my own station, but I can certainly get a kick out of her enjoyment.