One of many things I miss about being a classroom teacher is the week leading up to the Halloween party. My fourth grade colleagues and I would “transform” slowly over the week into the character Viola Swamp. It started with one fingernail being painted black. Then another. Perhaps the whole hand was the second day. We would all swear up and down, backwards and forwards that we had no idea what had caused the black nails. Perhaps the water? Perhaps nuclear waste in the microwave?