Why do I look like I have a mustache when I have my disapproving mom expression? I swear I don't. I think mom's gigantic Sally Jesse Raphael glasses were casting a shadow. I hope.
And so 15,000 people don't ask, mom's shirt reads, "Another Skinhead for Peace." That's our good friend Gandhi, there, on the shirt. The only shirt I own that reads anything is my "Owls are Assholes" shirt. Which I don't even think is true, I am just being funny.
And the poodle mom is holding, which sadly resembles her June hair, belongs to Faithful Reader Hulk's daughter, Hulkette. I asked her if we could borrow it, and I told her I'd return it the next day. But then if you read my blog, you know I was sick sick sick on Sunday, with a giant migraine. I emailed Hulk and told him I'd be there Monday.
Monday rolled around and Hulk told Hulkette, "My friend June will be over later to return your stuffed dog."
Hulkette, who is like eight or something, said, "Well, actually, she said she was returning it Sunday."
Geez. Hulk asked, Who is she, Rain Man? Some people are so persnickety.
And that is all I have to say about my Halloween ensemble. The next thing I have to tell you is for girls only.
IF YOU ARE A BOY, STOP READING THIS. IT INVOLVES MAXI PADS.
YOU JUST LEFT, DIDN'T YOU?
So, I have never been to Sam's Club, because I don't cook and all I purchase at the store is coffee. However, my mother was going to Sam's Club while I was there and asked if I needed anything. Other than 10,734 toothpicks for Hulkette to count, I said I needed some pads. Some "come on over to my pad" feminine protection.
Who returns with nine million four hundred and sixty thousand maxi pads? I did not know all you can get at Sam's Club are bulk items. I mean, talk about bulk. I am set until menopause.
We needed an additional carry-on bag for me to store these things. Had the plane crashed, I had my own air bag. It was ridiculous.
At the airport in my hometown, sometimes they pull you aside and search your bags, and I was pleading with all that is merciful and holy that they would NOT INSPECT THAT BAG. It was like Cathy Rigby was flying or something.
Fortunately, they did not, and I checked the bag instead of carrying it. But then when I got to Greensboro? And it was rolling around the carousel? I wasn't sure if it was my bag or not. And because I can never keep anything to myself, I said to the old, ancient man behind me, "I think that's my bag, but I can't be sure. I'm gonna grab it and look inside."
I had really kind of blocked how ridiculous it was in that bag. Remember how they kept opening that case in Pulp Fiction and you couldn't see what was in it but it kept glowing gold in their faces? I opened that bag and you have never seen so many yellow plastic squares in your life. It was like I stole the yellow brick road. It was like an explosion of peeps. We're talking yellow.
The old man, who had been so concerned about my bag situation, politely looked away. He probably wanted to dive onto the carousel and rotate away from me.
"Yep. That's my bag." I scurried out of there, hoping to never, ever see that poor man again.
When I came home and unpacked, Marvin was astonished. 'GEEZ! How many have you GOT in there?! It's like clowns coming out of a Volkswagen!" I didn't tell him there were more pads in my original suitcase.
At any rate, if you're ever over and need some feminine protection, I may have some.