We know D.C. Get our free newsletter to stay in the know.

Last week, I escaped the District for a pre-Halloween trip to Homestead Farm, a pick-yer-own-punkin’ site in something called “Poolesville.” There, I spent a moderately pleasant afternoon scrounging for gourds, ducking wee ones in winged costumes, and wandering in a field of trampled corn (A word to the wise: Homestead’s “corn maze” is not, as they may lead you to believe, “as high as an elephant’s eye.”) Upon returning to the District, I waddled down the city street, pleased with my bounty but clearly overburdened with a pumpkin in each arm. As I schlepped the 10-pound beauties home, I passed the time with idle dreams of my plans for them: I would disembowel them of their seeds, rip beauteous designs into their flesh, then display them for the enjoyment of the neighborhood children.

Soon, a man in the back seat of a car rolled down his window and interrupted my scheming. “Where are you going?” The man yelled. “The too early for Halloween convention? Oh, burn! Pumpkins! Burn!”

I tried to explain that I had just arrived from just such an event, but the car had puttered on, seeking, no doubt, new targets for its burns. Clearly, the holiday whimsy of my overgrown farm produce had offended the urban sensibilities of this jaded motorist. I secured the pumpkins in my modest basement apartment, where they await the appropriate moment to engage in holiday cheer.

But beware, man in the backseat of a car: Halloween arrives in earnest to the District tonight in the form of Dupont’s legendary High Heel Race. The 22nd annual event begins with a parade at 8 p.m., then continues with the race at 9, which starts off at J.R.’s Bar & Grill at 1519 17th Street and ends at Cobalt Nightclub at 1639 R Street. The race doesn’t include the liquor-shot pit-stop like it used to, but what it lacks in booze it should make up for in moxie and fanciful head ornaments.

But warns Cobalt, “The event doesn’t work on fashionably gay late or drag queen time,” so get there before 9—-or prepare to catch a ride to the too late for the drag race convention. Oh, burn!