Upstairs, Buffy is sent to assist Giles at the register. Scariest scene this season! There's a long line, and he's ringing people up and falling behind on the bagging and I have to watch with my hand over my eyes. I have Post-Traumatic Retail Syndrome (those in the know call it PTRS for short). Giles and Buffy bicker about whether Buffy should patrol. Giles reminds her that demons take Halloween off but Buffy, hit by the continuity stick, asks him, "Yeah, what about costumes that take over your personality or wee little Irish fear demony things?" Giles counters, "If anything calamitous should happen, history suggests it'll happen to one of us." Giles wins. Buffy bags.
An old guy, who looks like Jimmy Corrigan all grown up, slowly walks down a Sunnydale street, humming "Pop Goes The Weasel." He heads into a house full of nifty tin toys and places the bag he's been carrying on the counter. He then looks out the window at children trick-or-treating, chuckles, "Give you something special this year!" and pulls out a big knife and checks the sharpness. I know I should increase my coolness points here and say that I saw misdirection all along with this character. I could say it and you'd never know. But honestly, I didn't get a sense of misdirection. I just saw him being all creepy and checking the knife and I thought, "Huh." That's it. "Huh." My brain is going to mush. Maybe it's time to think about grad school or less TV-watching or something. ["I actually had one of those flip-floppy meta moments where I thought, 'Oh, we're supposed to think it's misdirection, but it's really not, so that's the misdirection.' Then my head exploded. What was that about less TV-watching?" -- Sars]
Der Zauber Kasten. The store has closed, and the gang lolls around exhaustedly. Anya, however, is ecstatic about the piles of money she and Giles pulled in. Giles begins handing out cleaning supplies, but Willow suggests that she do a cleaning spell. "It'll be like Fantasia!" "And we all know how splendidly that turned out for Mickey," snipes Giles, handing Willow a broom. Giles, marry me. And -- no kidding. I wouldn't want to take part in any spell that's been compared to a nightmare of overzealous zombie brooms. At the register, Dawn and Anya are partaking of a little booty-shaking Anya likes to call "The Dance of Capitalist Superiority," and in a daze of admiration, Xander speaks aloud what has heretofore been taboo: "I'm gonna marry that girl." Meaning Anya, not Dawn, because that would be just gross and wrong. Well, grosser and wronger. Going to join Anya at the register, Xander announces their engagement. The group's reaction is mixed: Dawn is excited, Tara smiles sweetly, Willow looks hurt, and Giles and Buffy are surprised. I'm skipping over ensuing Anya/Xander stuff because it doesn't give me any warm fuzzies. In fact, this relationship leaves me colder than a iceberg-dwelling penguin's ass. Buffy asks Giles if he knew of the engagement, and he says no, "Unless I've blocked it from my memory, much as I will Xander's vigorous use of his tongue." He then cleans his glasses and Buffy demands, "Is that why you're always cleaning your glasses!? So you don't have to see what we're doing?" Hee.