, , , , , , , ,

On Good Friday, Parker and I both got off early and met up at a store in our neighborhood to check out something I wanted to buy. Actually, I said, “I really want to buy this shelving,” and Parker said, “Can I look at books?” At the time, I didn’t see the harm in it, and we escaped with less than 5, so considering the number of boat books we COULD own, I guess we’re ahead? Especially because Parker went on a rant about the upside of owning a reference library. This freaked me out until he said that he was just thinking about talking about it instead of collecting one. I feel like we own one, but “I’m more of a magazine girl.” We don’t even own boat necessarily many boats to necessitate a book (or whatever similar phrase Mike Myers says in Wayne’s World).

In the time Parker had been at work, my shelving got sold to someone else. Then Parker kept me too long looking at dusty books about boats. This led to buying them and later caused him to take more antihistamine than usual and STILL sneeze and snore. I seriously blame the stupid books. I need to be more careful, because what I said was, “You can buy them if we leave now,” but what I meant was, “If we’re not leaving now, please don’t buy those books.” If he decides not to keep them, I’m totally going to cut them up into holiday cards so that I save some poor soul whose mate is about to buy a book on boats (at least I’ll tell myself that until it’s time to cut up the book, then I’ll hear all the adults when I was a kid yelling, “A book must be respected!” They’re the army officers of my mind). I dreamed about snoring. I take this as my freebie to buy whatever I want and put it in the place of the totally affordable shelving. Or I can buy something really awful and decoupage the whole thing in a gaudy manner. They both sound equally appealing right now. Hmmmm, if I decoupage it WITH the boats, he can’t complain, right? Or is that like shooting your partner’s pet and then stuffing it and keeping it in the living room? You’re right, it’s probably overkill. Literally.

We got up to the check out counter, and there was this weird skull bust on the table. It looked like Tales from the Crypt which I never watched, because those stories were scary, yo! I spent a good half of an episode under pillows. I wish I’d had my camera, but if someone from the store had called and said, “I understand you’re coming down today. We have this weird ass skull that obviously needs someone to put it on their blog,” then I would’ve been wary, and I might not even have driven to the store. On the other hand, I might have said, “Is it free to look? Thanks for the call!” They reeeeally need to work on their marketing. They ain’t no Té House of Tea (you would get that reference if you lived here…insert Nike or something).

Parker, “We should buy this and take it home so we remember our day of worship for the devil.”

Me: It would be a perfect addition to our day and celebrations, wouldn’t it?

(Or something like that. But we were joking, and we would’ve pulled it off were it not for the giggling. It was a creepy as shit skull!)

However, before we left, the clerk started to say “Happy Easter,” then thought about our conversation that he’d completely overhead and said, “Happy…weekend.”

There you have it, folks. Giggling can be interpreted as cackling. Man, I’m glad we don’t have that creepy skull in our house. I’m happier that we don’t have that creepy skull than us having several of books on boats. Way worse than a weeping angel! Unless the weeping angel was attacking, and then I don’t know…

Technically, Jesus WAS in a crypt…I’m going to stop now. Apparently, it’s impossible to tell when I’m kidding. Or when my husband and I are kidding as a team. If you can tell right now that I’m kidding, send me a sign. If you can’t, like this post. Or send me a sign. Either way.