One star. I was purchased on a Saturday from a farm stand, carried home like a newborn and placed on the kitchen table on top of yesterday's newspaper. Then a stranger with a serrated spoon removed my insides and gave me a face I did not request. Would not be carved again.
Every pumpkin in October has a similar complaint, but the face it ends up wearing says more about the carver than the gourd. Some people cut two perfect triangles and a gap-tooth grin, the same way their grandparents did. Some disappear into the garage with a headlamp and a set of clay tools and come out three evenings later with a werewolf. Some carve with a bread knife and a lot of laughing and end up with something that looks permanently surprised. And some skip the knife entirely, grab a can of cream paint and finish before the guts can stain anything.
Answer fifteen questions about patch strategy, porch placement, lighting and what you do when the knife slips straight through the mouth. We'll match you with the face that fits. The pumpkin still won't leave a better review, but at least it will look like you.
