Sparkles and Sticks: September 2011

When you want to buy pants that are no longer available in "short" length because they are on the clearance rack so they are only ten dollars and they actually happen to exist in your size...

Step 1: Buy the pants.

Step 2: Fold the cuffs to the desired length. Make sure that the length you choose works well with the shoes you plan on pairing the pants with. *Hint* a few larger folds are better than many smaller folds.

Step 3: Locate a pair of small, fairly light, attractive brooches. They don't have to match, but they should coordinate. My grandma gave me the ones I am using when I "helped" her clean out her jewelry box and dresser.

Step 4: Attach the pins so that they hold up the pretty folds you made. Marvel at your resourcefulness.

Step 5: Put on aforementioned shoes.

Step 6: Dance in pretty yellow leaves.

It all started with a very unfortunate and accidental viewing of A Nightmare on Elm Street when I was about five. My BFF, Beth, and I were at a neighbor's house playing with their visiting niece. The niece asked if we wanted to watch a movie about a guy who was "kind of weird."

"Like an alien?" I asked, thinking of E.T.

"Sort of..."

I was feeling brave. I went for it. My bravery quickly translated into stupidity as I not only sat through the entire movie, but didn't even have the sense to cover my eyes like Beth did.

I couldn't sleep in my own bed for a week. I couldn't eat pizza for days (Beth's big brother told me that Freddy's make-up was a pizza smashed all over his face). I couldn't watch scary movies for at least a decade. I was five years old, and I was officially afraid of everything.

Not only did Freddy temporarily put a wedge between me and the scrumptious cheese pizzas I was so fond of, but he kind of crushed my social life as well. I was the girl who always went home sick with a "tummy-ache" at sleepovers. My "tummy-aches" always had impeccable timing. They came on right after the games, presents and cake, and right before the pajamas and threat of scary stories and rated "R" movies.

I didn't always go home. If I was really, really, really good friends with a girl I would stay the night but hide the scary story book that another girl gave her for her present, thus beginning a evening long search for the book in which I was forced to lie when questioned about its whereabouts. Yeah, I saved the deceit and lies for my really good friends.

Sometimes I wonder how the Sleep Over Ruin-er I was became the Monster Maker I am today. But then I take a look at the monsters I make: they have goofy grins, pastel skins, and wobbly eyes. And the new ghosts that are in the shop as a Halloween Special- they have BOWS in their hair for cryin' out loud! In fact, I am pretty sure that if these ghosts could speak, they would shout "Bow!" instead of "Boo!"

And if the word "Bow!" sends you home with a tummy-ache? Sorry, not even I can help you.

PS- I tried to watch Freddy again when I was a mature 17 years old. It was still terrifying.