I wish there wasn't an age limit on trick-or-treating.

Every year before my birthday we used to get a Halloween catalogue in the mail. Inside were pages and pages of the most beautiful costumes any little girl could ever dream of. So one year, weeks before my birthday, I began a campaign. Each day I pressed just a little bit harder for that gorgeous, puff of a gown that Belle had worn. Well, I guess in truth it was just an imitation, but it didn't matter. It was better. So much better. My birthday arrived. Gift after gift. No dress. And then there was one. I tore through the paper. Pulled back the tissue. And there it was. That hint of gold. A dream fulfilled. I don't know if I've ever felt so beautiful as when I got the chance to be Belle.

I'd give almost anything to be eight years old again. Holding my dad's hand. My brother by my side. Braving the unseasonably cold October air in pursuit of treat after treat. 

I used to think it was all about the candy. Now looking back, it was about so much more.