Spend your week arguing with your spouse whether or not it is too soon to purchase a pumpkin.
Research the internet for an “authentic pumpkin farm” outside the city limits. Do not drive to the nearest grocery store and purchase an affordable pumpkin.
On a Saturday morning, attempt to wrestle shoes, socks, and pants on a toddler who insists remaining naked.
Travel twelve miles (twenty-five minutes) to a pumpkin farm and miss your turn on a rural road. Argue with spouse over directions, while denying your inadequate navigational skills.
Arrive at the pumpkin farm. Drive through a bumpy field and climb a steep hill to park your vehicle. Take a deep breath. Walk towards pumpkins. You will smell deep fried Oreos at the concession stand. Pretend you have the willpower to ignore them.
Do not buy a pumpkin yet. You do not want to haul it around the farm. Instead, purchase tickets to stand in line with your toddler so you can ride a train of carts pulled by a riding lawnmower. Just do it. It’s what people do at pumpkin farms.
After the ride, when your spouse goes to the restroom, purchase a deep fried Oreo. This is what you drove for. You deserve it.
Do not laugh at grown men wearing t-shirts displaying Friday the 13th hockey masks. Be sensitive. This might be the only joy in their life.
Remember, do not buy a pumpkin yet. Instead, pet the filthy farm animals and feed them with pellets from the quarter machines. Just do it. This is what people do at pumpkin farms.
Take a picture in front of an arranged autumn background–hay bales, corn husks, and scarecrows. Ask a complete stranger to use your smartphone to take a family picture. Pick the most incompetent looking person who will need extensive directions and delay the picture, while your toddler runs away. Make sure you look miserable in the photograph.
Purchase a pumpkin. Find a nice, round member of the squash family, preferably, one with a firm surface and consistent coloring. But don’t be picky and, definitely, do not forget to buy a goose-necked gourd. You need one with the s-shaped necks. Go ahead and empty all the cash from your wallet with a few pastel pumpkins too. Throw in a corn stalk and a hay bale for good measure.
Climb steep hill. Load pumpkins in the back of your vehicle. Ignore screaming toddler who did not get a piece of your deep fried Oreo. Drive home for twenty-five minutes (twelve miles) and pass the grocery store selling perfectly good pumpkins at 50% off.