As a kid I did not like raisins. Most children don't actually. I'm pretty sure the only thing youngsters hate more than raisins is finding a box of raisins at the bottom of their Halloween bag.
You know where they came from. It's the house with all the lights on, the TV flickering through the curtains, yet it takes a good five minutes for someone to come to the door. You keep knocking because you know someone is in there. How can you not? You're a kid with a sweet tooth for Pete's sakes. When door finally opens, a stale smell of mothballs goes breezing by. A little old lady with hazel hair and a maroon shawl peeks through the cracked door and slowly extends her arm towards your bag. She drops something in and you say thanks. What could it be? A Clark Bar? Junior Mints? A sampling of those Hershey mini's?
Nope...it's raisins. You won't know this until you get home, but it is. You'll know where they came from. And you'll know who your next target is for Ring and Run.
You probably know someone who gives out raisins on Halloween. Talk to them. They didn't grow up wanting raisins in their candy bag. Tell them "Please stop doing this, for the children."
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