Editor’s Note: This is the fourth part in a series about society’s autumn obsession with pumpkin.
Pumpkins are taking over the world.
Everywhere I look, I see a pumpkin something. Pumpkin Poppers at Einstein’s, pumpkin muffins and doughnuts at Dunkin’ Donuts, pumpkin drinks everywhere, pumpkins outside of every store, pumpkin big-and-tall tees, pumpkin costumes, pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin, pumpkin.
People are putting motors on 700-pound carved-out pumpkins and racing them as boats in Damariscotta, Maine.
I really do love pumpkin, but this is out of control.
We’re not even halfway through October, and pumpkins are already suffocating the daily scenery. They’ve already lost a good amount of their novelty, and pumpkin season lasts at least until Thanksgiving.
The ridiculousness of the pumpkin pandemic reached its zenith at Wal-Mart the other night. I knew the store would be a good place to go to find a pumpkin item or two after other stores had closed their doors, but I had no idea how absurd some of their items would be.
The first thing I noticed after a quick stroll through the grocery and clothing sections was that Wal-Mart is the ideal place to shop if you want to dress up in pumpkin. They sell pumpkin clothing items ranging from an $8 pumpkin baby play suit to the biggest orange pumpkin shirts I have ever seen hanging from the racks of the men’s clothing section.
Eventually, I found my way to the seasonal section where everything was more than just a tad too much. Amid bags of gummy body parts, boxes of candy hands, and rows of glittery silver skeletons, was a bin of large pumpkin piñatas.
When I think of piñatas, I think of childhood birthday parties. I think of elementary school classes celebrating Cinco de Mayo on the playground and my second grade teacher reminding everyone that, even though my surname put me last in alphabetical order, it didn’t mean I was lesser than anyone else beating that hanging paper donkey.
I feel that a pumpkin piñata is an attempt to combine two things that really can’t be.
So I continued, satisfied, knowing it wasn’t just my imagination — pumpkins really are taking over everything, even my childhood memories.
The costume aisle was where I found the epitome of pumpkin absurdity. There, on an end cap, past all of the prepackaged costumes, ranging from slutty Dorothy to sexy Spider-Woman and even Playboy Bunny ears marketed to eight-year-old girls, was the most ridiculous item in all of Wal-Mart — a pumpkin sweater for your pet cat. I have no words.
I felt it when my stomach turned as I drank a pumpkin milkshake. This pumpkin cat sweater was really the nail in the coffin.
Wal-Mart had no comment to ease my troubled soul.
Be the first to comment on this article!