October has favorite-month potential. I love the chill in the air, the smell of fireplaces and getting to wear hoodies and a few extra pounds. But one thing tarnishes the lovely month of October: Halloween decorations.

I’m afraid of ghosts. There, I said it. Ghosts freak me out. I don’t care how groovy Shaggy’s van is; I could never join Scooby and the gang. Casper, in all his “world’s friendliest ghost” glory, could come knocking with a bucket of homemade fudge, a carafe of riesling and my favorite Bon Jovi album, and I still would have to pepper spray him. Then, of course, the pepper spray would go right through him because he is, ya know, a ghost, and I’d find myself huddled in the closet, pepper spraying myself so I wouldn’t have to see the apparition before me. Not that I’ve thought about it before or anything.

My preschool teachers did the best they could. In addition to teaching us our ABCs and the difference between turquoise and aquamarine, they taught us not to fear those who go “Boo!” in the night.