I was digging through my car today to find some pants, and here is a short list of some things I found:
-a length of rope
- pearl necklaces (2)
-a blow torch
-a bag of (popped) popcorn
-empty waterbottles (5)
I also found a pair of fairy wings from Halloween, which reminded me of an anecdote that I felt like sharing. My family is weird. Very weird indeed. This most recent Halloween, I was at my parents’ house, and we decided to run to the quaint downtown district of our town and patronize a gourmet chocolate shop. When I say “we” decided, I really mean that I told everyone to get into the car because I needed my chocolate covered gummy bear fix. My mother’s workplace always does a costumed lunch, so she had her Sherlock Holmes outfit all set. My younger brother was Michael Jackson, and I was a fairy. My father had no costume, but we were able to find him all the trappings of an admirable King Arthur. So off we went, in full regalia, to the chocolate shop. Our town has plenty of holiday spirit, so we figured that there would be plenty of families and children gallivanting in costumes of their own.
As it turns out, this was a completely false assumption.
We faced a moment of indecision as we sat in our parked car, clearly the only dressed-up people within ten miles. However, the Anthropy family is a brave bunch; squaring our fedoras, crowns, wings, and pipes, we stepped out into the street and proceeded boldly forth. Well, it was maybe less of a “proceeding boldy” movement and more of a “skulking quickly through the shadows, trying to get behind cover as much as possible.” Despite our best efforts, we did find we got some circus freak-worthy stares, but by and large people were tolerant of our eccentricity; we even got some of our bonbons on the house, since we had the moxie to be costumed fools.
Anyway, I just wanted to give you a bit of insight as to why I write like I do. It’s clearly because I was raised by creative lunatics.
