For some strange reason, my boyfriend and I judged the Halloween costume contest in our village just this weekend. Come to think of it, it’s not that strange. It makes perfect sense since we’re the most objective people they could ever get to judge the competition—my boyfriend lives almost half the entire stretch of Ortigas away and I, well, I ignore practically every living thing that resides here, save for the cross-bred Labrador-Dalmatian (imagine a Lab with black spots) and the Persian-turned-stray cat I often encounter on my way to work. Of course there’s the occasional (much to my chagrin) small talk initiated by some pretty nice parents that (much to my delight) offer to pay my trike fare just because they like my mom.

Anyway, at first, we were just standing there with our index cards not knowing what the hell we’re supposed to do. My mom had to tell, nay force us to walk around and check out the costumes. You know all those hackneyed phrases about judges’ decisions “not being easy”? Well, it’s true. In the end, though, I firmly believe that we picked the most deserving kids.

Before they even made the announcement, we made a quick run away from our village. You’ll never know when disgruntled parents come running after us with baseball bats, umbrellas, pitchforks, or something. Click here to read the entire post.