One drawback to the fancy search bar over to the left: I can now see exactly how repetitive my blogging -- and thus my very LIFE -- has been over the past few years.
I broke my toe over the weekend. The same toe I broke here. I stubbed it on the vacuum cleaner, just like I did here. But it's a different toe than the one I broke here, so I am mixing it up a little bit.
I stubbed it in the morning and did the whole silent-gasping dance around the bedroom, but it wasn't until a few hours later -- while we were shopping for last-minute Halloween costumes for ourselves, more on that ridiculousness in a second -- when I noticed my toe felt a little stiff. I flexed it inside my shoe, and heard an audible popping sound.
"JESUS CHRIST!" I hissed, as I kicked my shoe off to watch the swelling.
"Can I help you?" a store employee, dressed ever-so-conveniently like the deity in question, smirked back.
I followed up with a muttered "mother of GOD," but that doesn't appear to be a very popular costume this year.
I cannot remember the last time I got dressed up for Halloween, but we've been invited to a party. Us! Invited places! I know, it caught me completely off-guard too.
I had a lot of great costume ideas, but was ultimately stymied by rush shipping prices and the fact that I have the patience of a gnat when it comes to shopping. (An Audrey Hepburn costume was nixed after 10 minutes in Target when I failed to find a black dress or large hat, and when Jason suggested that there are, in fact, other stores in the world besides Target I announced that I hated Halloween more than anything, ever and I was going to buy a pair of cat pajamas and go as a blogger as imagined by Aaron Sorkin, but Target didn't have those either.)
So we ended up in one of those Halloween stores that crop up wherever a large chain store has gone out of business recently, where your costume options are "Sexy Nurse" or "Sexy Pirate" or "Sexy Rainbow Brite" or "Aw, Fuck It, Here's Some Underwear With Some Fairy Wings."
I bought the first costume I found that covered my stomach and my ass and called it a day. I am not even very sure what it is, exactly. Possibly Marie Antoinette, but with pants? Some kind of royal court gentleman, but in pink? Gender Identity Problems of the 18th Century, but with cleavage?
I don't know, but I am going to wear glittery gold eyelashes and a hot pink bra. It's all sorts of classy.
In other Halloween news, Noah has discovered the candy. This was entirely my fault, since I was trying to explain trick-or-treating and the cold, harsh fact that people were going to PUT THINGS inside his beloved pumpkin bucket. For you do not PUT THINGS in the pumpkin bucket.
(NOOOES THEY BE PUTTIN THINGS IN MAH BUKKET, TREATS: DO NOT WANT, etc.)
I think he is okay with the concept now.
Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert? Dessert?
(We possibly ate a little more dessert than lunch today. So what? You gonna send over a squad of Sexy Police Officers over to stop me?)