October finally begins to feel like itself, so you start to bundle your children to attend their fall festival. And that’s when you hear it – a faint voice, like a ghostly whisper from some forgotten crypt. You can’t place it at first, but it persists. You should know that voice. And then, like an unremembered dream flooding back to you as you step into your morning shower, you feel a rush of recognition. You *do* know that voice, and it’s been a long time since you heard it, and you’ve missed it horribly. In a moment you’re at the coat closet under the stairs. In three more you’ve pushed aside the clutter. And there he hangs, wedged unhappily between a child’s snowsuit and the cut-off flannel shirt you wore as a redneck costume. And you can’t believe you forgot about him, and you haven’t been yourself without him. And he joins you and your kids, and because of him, the fall festival is just a little more sexy.