Back alley owl attack.

Happy Halloween! So far, the ho-humiest Halloween yet. They did not even hand out fun-sized treats at work today! I realize how weirdly entitled this is: I don’t even care for cheap chocolate. How am I supposed to get into the mood for Halloween in such an uninspired work environment? One of the mechanics wore a Jack-o-Lantern costume. I threw on my Senior Proctor NXIVM stripe path scarf for a few hours in a futile attempt to instigate a conversation. Everybody else in the shop was a disappointment.

There was a corn on the cob on the salesfloor. My grocery store checkout clerk was Toad. I noticed my landlord now has a moustache: unsure if Halloween related.

Last evening was spooky enough anyhow.

Continue reading “Back alley owl attack.”

Waxed out.

My candle count remains at three.

Mom used to have a collection of candles that rivalled a Catholic church. When I was little, I’d dip my fingertips in the melted wax that pooled around the wick of the candles. Mom did not like this. She forbade me from having candles in my room, but this was out of concern that I’d set the house on fire. Even into my teens, this candle ban was imposed upon me.

Jordi didn’t throw me much of a pity party when I shared my candle-deprived childhood with him. He made a face when I described my proclivity for dipping my fingers in hot wax and determined that it wasn’t a “kid thing,” as I insisted, but a “Laura thing.”

Please back me up in the comments.

Continue reading “Waxed out.”