Paint the Town Red

Scenario: I am in K-mart (yeah, I know) attempting to buy red spray paint. I am attempting to do so, because in the Great State of California, spray paint is kept in little cases with bars, under lock and key. I suppose the spray paint has been very, very naughty.

Note: And no one ever has the key to spray paint prison, either. Not the supervisor with the crazy hair. Not the sweaty guy stocking the Christmas ornaments. Ah, customer service has the key. There's humor in that, I believe.

I am finally in line with my red spray paint and diet soda. The soda and the paint fall over and roll around each time the conveyor belt moves. I am chatting with the lady behind me. Because she is buying a new lamp shade. She wonders how I feel about it the shape of the lampshade. Will it look right with her brown area rug?

Note: I am not sure how the shape of the lampshade affects the color of her area rug. But I tell her it will look beautiful. You have excellent taste, I say. (Yes, we are still in K-mart. Excellent may have been an overstatement, but the woman, obviously a trophy wife in training, is delighted.)

Our happy moment is interrupted by the staccato voice of the middle-aged checker. He has a pleasing accent I cannot identify. But I am lousy at accents.

"Date of birth please, Ma'am."

Note: I am not proud of the following interaction. Trophy Wives should not be disagreeable with pleasant, staccato-voiced clerks at K-mart.

What? Clearly I am over the age of eighteen, I say. Clearly I am not a gang-banger, I say. Clearly I am making a Christmas poster for our church, for-crying-out-loud, I say.

Note: I am saying this in a manner of light-hearted banter. Pretty much.

"Date of birth please, Ma'am."

What? Put your birthday in the computer, I say. Or make one up, I say. Yes, make one up.

He is staring at me.

I need to be over the age of 18, eh? Well, that's what I"ll be.

"12/12/90"

Ah.

Unfortunate. Indeed.

Unfortunately, Hub drops a Costco-sized glass bottle of garlic-infused olive oil on the wood floor.

Unfortunately, it shatters into about a zillion pieces.

Unfortunately, the olive oil begins to glug and ooze dangerously toward the area rugs,the upholstered furniture, the dog.

Unfortunately, I grab the nearest towels--a couple of oversized (Costco, yes) white bath sheets to corral the mess.

Unfortunately, I throw the garlic-infused towels into the wash. With other towels. And kitchen dishcloths. Whatnot.

Unfortunately, I now have garlic-infused towels, dishcloths and whatnot.

Unfortunately, after several hot-water-vinegar washings, I still have garlic-infused towels, dishcloths and whatnot.

Unfortunately, the very clean but garlic-infused towels, dishcloths and whatnot are now in the garbage.

Unfortunately, the washing machine smells like a pizzeria.

Fortunately, Trophy Wives like pizza.

Humanoids and the Whatnot.

Every body of water has its secrets. And I'm not just talking about kids peeing in the pool here. No, I am talking about frightening, dangerous and real creatures that haunt the deep waters of the earth.

There's the Creature of the Black Lagoon, a monster of the "mist-shrouded Amazon, the domain of a prehistoric, amphibious "Gill Man" -- possibly the last of a species of fanged, clawed humanoids who may have evolved entirely underwater." amctv.com Yes, fanged, clawed humanoids. But also note that he is possibly the last. There may be more. Please use care on your next voyage down the mist-shrouded Amazon.

Note: In the accompanying actual photograph of the Creature of the Black Lagoon, he is, indeed, real and has a penchant for the ladies.



Nessie, the Loch Ness Monster has been traumatizing young Scots in kilts for decades.

Note: The Scots wear the kilts, not the Monster.

Another Note: Personally, I like the kilt. Men in skirts, fine. Men with bagpipes, not fine.

Nessie has been described as "egg-shaped" or "two-humped" or "elephant-like" which is a description that applies to many types of animal life, including some member of my pilates classes. Please refer to the actual photo below, taken at the trembling hand of a brave soul. But if one looks closely enough, the creature is there. It is real. It is frightening.




A new monster has been sighted on the shores of a wine country lake. The creature is described as "multi-tentacled" and "quite buff" and although it is photographed on the shore, authorities believe it is amphibious and spends time in the Deep. Dark. Water.

Note: It's a rough photograph, taken at the trembling hand of a brave soul, but if one looks closely enough, the creature is there. It is real. It is frightening.



And it bears a stunning resemblance to Ursula, from The Little Mermaid, also a real monster.



It is, I believe, The Trophy Monster of Lake Sonoma.

Laboratory Instructions. Wow.

I received instructions from the Laboratory yesterday through the U.S. Postal Service. I feel inclined to share with you, my reader, the type of day I am experiencing. Sometimes it doesn't matter if I am a Trophy Wife or The Pope. Sometimes, yes, things have to be done.

Disclaimer: This information is real. Some of the more technical terms in this post have been altered for the clarity of the reader.

Let us begin.

"1. Unfold and put the large collection tissue paper inside the toilet bowl on top of the water.

2. Have a bowel movement so that the poo-poo fall on top of the collection paper. (Remember: I am not making this up.)

3. Take a sample of your poo-poo. Here's how: Scrape the surface of the poo-poo with the sample probe. Be sure to cover the grooved portion of the sample probe completely with your poo-poo!

4. Insert sample probe into the sample bottle. If some poo-poo has gotten on the outside of the bottle, please wipe it off before mailing. (There's a nasty job: The Lab Collection Mail Opener. "Hey Larry! Another one forget to wipe!")

5. Place poo-poo sample in the bio-hazard bag and mail immediately after collection, within 3 days." (Three days? Really? That's immediate?)

Trick or Treat?

Eeeeew.

Trick or Treat. I am the Treat. Yeah.

So, last night I went trick or treating. At 7:00 p.m. In reverse. Not backwards exactly. We brought candy. We played games with the little kids.

Yes, we were the treats.

6:35 p.m.: I need a costume. It is cold outside. Seriously. Like in the 40's. I put my orange jacket over my black t-shirt and jeans. Not a costume.

6:37 p.m.: I am standing in my closet. Looking. At my clothes. For inspiration. I see Rosie, the creepiest doll on earth. Please do not ask why Rosie is in my closet. It is personal. Okay, fine. I'll tell you. She is in my closet, face down, because she scares me. She reminds me of Chucky. Yes Chucky, from the creepiest horror movies ever. She even sounds like Chucky when she talks. Yes, she talks. Creepy!

6:39 p.m.: I am standing in the kitchen. I am inspired. I pull my awfully cute apron from the drawer. It matches my jacket. Nice. I grab a spatula. Rubber. And my personal guidebook. Martha Stewart's Cookies.

6:40 p.m. Hub wraps his belt around me, around the wool coat, around the apron, around the creepy doll that sounds like Chucky and around my guidebook. He makes jokes about strapping the creepy doll at my breast. He thinks he is hilarious. He struggles to find the smallest notch. I am tiny, he says. Nice.

Susie Homemaker, at your service.

Let the Halloweening begin! Well, continue ...

Now you see it. Now you don't.

Look closely at this picture.

You may not see it at first. Look again.

Believe it or not, the photo is my thumb. Yes. It is difficult to see because I am wearing a camouflage bandaid. You will note that the use of the camouflage causes the injury to just blend into the background and ... disappear!

Wow. Think of the implications of such a product. Sure, it can cover a nasty wound.

But wait!

Imagine a giant camouflage bandaid plastered right over your cellulite. (Not that you have any. I'm just saying.) The dimpled fat just blends into the background and ... disappears! Unexpected company? Imagine a giant camouflage throw tossed over the mess which just blends into the background and ... disappears! Or better yet, toss an even gianter throw over the house and it just blends into the background and ... disappears! Unexpected guests are a thing of the past.

But wait!

Zip yourself into a giant camouflage bag and become a 'fly on the wall' in your teen's room. Zip yourself up at the PTA meeting when they are looking for a volunteer to Chair the Annual Groundhog Day Masquerade Ball and you'll just blend into the background and ... disappear!

Genius!

She Walks in Beauty. Whatever.

So, Kendall is on the run with Aidan, a handsome ex-Special Ops agent with a sexy Austrailian accent and, apparently, a penchant for poetry. He helps her escape from the hospital after her "double," who is serving her life sentence in prison (while she lives in a secret room in her own home) gets stabbed by a disgruntled inmate and is sent to the hospital.

Oh, the plotline doesn't matter. The following information matters: Her husband, Zach is handsome, mysterious, brooding, rich and apparently, has a penchant for poetry. Also.

Note: Hub has a penchant for many things. Poetry, however, is not one of them.

So, Kendall and Aidan are holed up in a charming, old run-down church while Aidan recovers from the gunshot wound which he received during the daring escape. Nevermind that Kendall and Aidan have done the whatnot more than once. She is devoted to Zach (currently) and is reminiscing. About Zach. And their love. And about how deep and abiding it is (currently). And about how Lord Byron wrote "She Walks in Beauty" after seeing a woman that took his breath away. And nevermind that Lord Byron, who was also mysterious and brooding (because of his clubfoot, some poetry authorities muse) had a penchant for a few things himself (including his own female relatives).

Kendall: I'll never forget the first time Zach read it to me."

Wait. The first time? Doesn't that imply that there are other times as well? Are you kidding me?

Note: Hub needs a scriptwriter. Now.

Cue music. Cut to Zach and Kendall on a couch, in a room too dark for reading and seriously, Zach is my age and in that lighting would need reading glasses, and of course the fire is roaring and Kendall is glowing and Zach is gazing. Adoringly. At. Her.

Cut to old run-down church. Kendall is quoting the poem, her eyes glistening with the remembrance of it all. Aidan's eyes are glistening as well. He quotes the poem with her. In tandem. They hold hands. And quote.

Note: Oh please.