Under my left eye.
Actually, my true love did not give them to me: Halloween did.
Wonder Woman is not supposed to have twitches.
But Wonder Woman is not supposed to have varicose veins either.
That’s what happens when you’re a copy of a copy of a copy. Glitches appear.
That’s what happens when fantasy meets reality. Incongruities surface.
I baked my 60-minute red fleece corset for 30 minutes at 150 degrees to dry the gold fabric paint in time for the party. As a chaser, I blew it dry.
I didn’t bother with a gold lasso of truth. Ropes, toddlers, bad combination. And who wants the truth, anyway? (“I hit my brudder cuz he took my Buzz Lightyear.”)
I crave it.
We all crave it.
And we crave escape from it, too.
There is a lovely place for suspended disbelief. It’s the place we inhabit when we read, watch movies, daydream, pull on a costume and pretend to be a superhero.
I think that’s one reason I like the Richard Scarry books so much. His characters live in a world in which Uncle William the pig can make a ferocious sea monster disguise out of shells and palm fronds, and scare the marauding rat pirates and Auntie Pastry, too. It’s like all the characters are great with costumes and are extremely myopic.
Or, they just have the mentality of a three year-old.
I gotta get me some of that.
But in the meantime, I gotta get me some sleep. In our world (as Mbot likes to say), Halloween started Friday morning and didn’t end ’til an hour ago. Four days. Four Halloween parties. It’s like some reality show that should have been canceled a long time ago. I’ve had enough of this Halloween on a Monday thing. Let’s start a petition for it always to be on the last Saturday of October.
And then let’s turn out the light.
On second thought, let’s turn out the light first.
Halloween on the last Saturday of October: Yay? Nay?