I need to keep disguises in my car.
Honestly. This isn't
even debatable anymore. As soon as
Halloween stuff hits the market, I'm buying fake wigs, hats, helmets, clown
noses, and Groucho Marx glasses with the moustaches attached. It's all staying in my car. All of it.
You see, when I'm out with my friend, we have a bad habit of
running into people we do not want to speak to … ever.
Once in CVS we ran into an ex-acquaintance who had gone off
the mental diving board clear into the deepest, darkest end of the sanity
pool. She acted as if it hadn't been
months since we stopped taking her multi-hour, rave-filled phone calls. Chief Crazy Woman (as she should be known)
looked at my friend and me, and said, "Where are the tissues? I can't find the tissues in this place!" Then she sneered at us, giggled maniacally,
and started talking about her kids like it was still 2010.
The next time we spotted Chief Crazy Woman, we were in
Kohl's. My friend and I nearly ran CCW
over with our shopping carriage, which we quickly ditched so we could run into
the nearest aisle. Turned out to be
house wares. Being short, my friend and
I couldn't see over the pillow and bed spread displays, but it didn't matter
because CCW was a hunched over, scrawny witch.
My friend and I moved carefully from display to display, spotting CCW
again near the boys' department and again in an open walkway between purses and
underwear. Eventually we hid behind the
racks of infant clothing because we knew it was the one place CCW wouldn't need
to shop. Just for the record, do you
have the slightest idea how hard it is to hide two full-grown women behind
teeny tiny little jumpsuits? Thank
goodness CCW is half-blind.
This sort of crap happens to us every time we're
together. We run into students at Orange
Leaf. We have the restaurant manager who
thinks we're throwing a rehearsal dinner for ourselves. We get caught in tornados in the middle of
Squam Lake. We get busted raiding the
neighbor's pool. People around us at the
beach just randomly fall over. Wild
animals parade around when we're sitting in the lawn chairs trying to enjoy the
great outdoors. Dick Nixon the Groundhog
gets grazed in the head by a .22. On and on and on.
Really. You can't
write this stuff; it writes itself without any encouragement from us
whatsoever.
Tonight we are on a quest to Staples. My friend needs a printer, and I need folders
and a silver Sharpie. (Of course, wide-ruled notebook paper is also on
sale. I consider it a victory when I
only buy two packs instead of the five I can buy for only fifty cents
each. Hey, I said "Two Pack"
and "Fifty Cent" in the same sentence. I'm just pointing that out.) I have just gotten home from the gym, so I'm
a little ripe around the edges. Okay,
I'm ripe in more places than just edges, but we're in a hurry to get to
tax-free New Hampshire for the supplies.
I change from yoga pants to capris but leave on the sports bra and
workout shirt. What do I care? We're only going to Staples, right?
Wrong. Oh, so wrong.
On our way back from Staples, just as we're pulling toward
my friend's driveway, she notices a visitor.
It's not Chief Crazy Woman, but it's her evil spawn twin, Looney Toony
Relative. LTR is sitting in one of the
Adirondack chairs on the front lawn, texting my friend that she is there "waiting,
waiting, waiting." My friend texts
back, "Go home, go home, go home."
LTR apparently wants to become my friend's personal pilot fish. In short, she is the current CCW.
My friend ducks down in the passenger seat, I swerve back
into the main road, and we continue along, stupefied. A little background: LTR is the same relative for whom my friend
put on a children's bike helmet so she wouldn't be recognized when we had to
drive down the street where LTR lives.
If only we had a helmet with us at this moment.
We do the next best thing.
We head to the nearest bar.
Installing the printer right this moment is not nearly as important as
is escaping the human pilot fish. I
steer toward Chili's. My friend is
clearly in need of an ice cold beer, and so am I. We walk in, knowing we are only going to stay
about thirty minutes, so we head to the bar, which is completely crowded. We grab a table, sit down, and relax for
about ten seconds, when I see my friend wave slightly, turn to me, and roll her
eyes.
Her soon-to-be ex and his latest paramour are sitting next
to us. Right next to us. Practically in
our laps next to us.
There is no place to duck and cover. There are no tissue aisles, no house wares,
no pillows, no bedspreads, no infant clothing racks, no helmets, no wigs, and
no hole to swallow up either us or them.
We order two draughts, shake our heads, and bust our guts
laughing.
We have carefully avoided one weird situation only to fall
deeper into The Twilight Zone of FuckedUpVille.
These things seem to happen to us with alarming frequency, and this is
exactly the reason why we need to keep disguises handy. If we have disguises, maybe Chief Crazy Woman
would not seek our help finding tissues,
Looney Toony Relative wouldn't scope us out driving by while she
occupies someone else's Adirondack chair, and mistresses wouldn't surprise us
in bars.
Who the hell am I kidding?
Of course this shit is going to keep happening to us. But the wigs and masks and clown noses might
make it all just slightly less surreal.
Until that happens, I'd like to raise a glass to my friend and simply
say, "Cheers -- you make me laugh my fool head off!" Friends like this are rare, and you should
covet them and protect them when you are able.
Girlfriend, this disguise is for you!
