After every Halloween, my mother would pick out pieces of my candy and take them for herself.
“It’s the Mommy Tax,” she said.
The Mommy Tax never included crappy popcorn balls or sugar-free junk. It was always good stuff, like Snickers bars.
And not those crappy fun-size ones, either. Full-sized Snickers bars.
So, I carried two bags: Crappy stuff in one, good stuff in the other.
Then I’d hide the bag with the good stuff before coming inside.
Later, I’d sneak out to get the good bag.
Then I learned, she was checking for tampering.
Nobody ever poisons crappy candy.