This weekend, I commenced with the decorating for the Halloween. Which meant that I wound up carrying two pumpkins and a family pack full of chicken drumsticks home on my scooter. Because I needed pumpkins. And we needed chicken. And I try to never let little things like the laws of time and space get in the way of a GREAT DEAL at the supermarket.
So yes. Chicken. Pumpkins. Anarchy. The pumkins clearly needed to go inside my bookbag proper, so I had to tie the bag with all the chicken in it to said backpack. This caused me no little anxiety when I flew down the road at 40 mph: that bag bounced, y’all. A LOT. And since it had chicken, shirt boxes, Christmas gift labels AND a tasteful Halloween wreath inside of it, I was more than a little afraid that it would break off, fall under the wheels, and kill me.
And that would be the most magnificently stupid way to die EVER.
Anyway, point is that I’ve been spending a good deal of time and effort on this whole Halloween shizz, up to and including defying DEATH to get us decorative gourds. Oh, and buying Oliver a costume. He’s going to be a SHARK! He’s not happy about it. But I didn’t buy Original Flavor Cat a costume, which upset her daddy–because any time he suspects favoritism that does NOT favor his perfect princess, he gets upset.
“George,” I told him, “she tried to give me an impromptu mastectomy the last time I picked her up. And I was just trying to CARRY HER TO HER FOOD BOWL. What do you really think she’d do to me if I tried to dress her up?”
He conceded that I would very probably lose vital and essential parts of my anatomy.
“Anyway,” I concluded, “she dresses up like a pumpkin 365 days of the year. She doesn’t NEED costume.”
And indeed, she doesn’t. Here’s our pumpkin:
And yes, that is her in her daddy’s arms. Oliver’s not the only needy little creature chez Mankiller…