I know, I know. I can't just waltz in here after blogging crappily all summer and pretend that one little picture is going to make it all fine and good between us, y'all, and I'm not going to! But this one is a doozy. I (pause. pause. for. emphasis.) promise. Scout's honor, y'all. Even Momma has noticed my lack of writingishness.
Momma: What did you do today?
TCWH grumble grumble hair all astray makeup all askew: Nothing.
Momma (chewing on her cigar): What do you mean nothing?
TCWH:...
Momma: Did you work on your paper? (Yes. That. Damn. PAPER. The one I still have not written and have been complaining about ALL FUCKING SUMMER -snapping my fingers- and should just sit down and write it already. I. FUCKING! KNOW!)
TCWH: Nope.
Momma: Did you write?
TCWH: Nope.
Momma: Did you blog?
TCWH: Nope.
Momma (taking cigar out of mouth and swiveling to look at me): You didn't even BLOG? What is going on? Don't you do that EVERY DAY?
TCWH: Nope.
Momma: Hunh.
TCWH picks nose nonchalantly, scratches ass, and exits stage left.
All right, all right, so I embellished a little. But it makes life that much more interesting, don't it? Don't it? Let me set up this pic for you. I'm in Miami. At some ridiculously huge mall with ridiculously expensive shops staring at ridiculously dressed mannequins with ridiculously JLo dimensioned butts. Which I like. Not everybody has an ass like Paris Hilton, you know? Butts come in all shapes and sizes, and frankly, Paris needs a little help in the "back that thing up" department. I mean, I just figured out why every time I see a picture of her I get hungry for pancakes and I don't even like pancakes! but I am getting WAY OFF SUBJECT. So, mall, miami, mannequins, mastercard, momma la la la! (bet you didn't know that I could do that, didja?) I was kind of wandering around in a daze when Momma spotted a what I tastelessly and unsensitively refer to as a "hippie store" and wandered in. Dad kept a close tail on her, so I wandered around by myself, lost in the incense section. Long story short: Distant cousin Kathryn. Mango Incense. Road Trip. Can't find Mango Incense ANYWHERE. Therefore, everywhere they sell incense, I must check the "flavors". What do I happen upon? Not mango, not passion fruit, not patchouli, but this *ahem* surely best-selling scent, I know it's number one on my list! <--- intended sarcasm:
In my best Steve Martin from Saturday Night Live voice, "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" I mean apart from all the question running around in my head, like, What does it smell like? Why would you want that in your house? Do men who are having an affair buy it by the handfuls and then just tell their wives it's the incense? What the fuck is that for? I was kind of appalled, and amused! Like a giggly little kid! So I took a picture and picked it up and smelled it.