No, really. Take today. I'm done with it.
So, first things first this morning, I get my hair cut and colored. Honestly, the inch of grey roots was beginning to affect my self-esteem. I leave the brilliant Arviel's shop, ready for the day. My first stop is JoAnn Fabrics, where I'm getting some silver trim, a few white feather boas, and some bra extenders for some of the costumes. While I'm there, my eye was caught by the breast augmentation doohickeys.
Now, me being who I am with all that God has blessed me, have never really had the occasion to peruse the chicken cutlets. Here was the conversation I had with the store employee.
Employee. (Looks at the product in my hand, then at what a romance novelist might call my 'ample bosom,' then up to my face) Can I help you with something?
Carrie. I'm just deciding which one of these I need.
Employee. (incredulous) Are they... for you?
(She says this like she's borderline offended - and I guess I understand, since if I were to use the product, my brassiere size would be somewhere along a triple F.)
Carrie. (Raises eyebrow and wonders how it is POSSIBLY any of this girl's business) No.
Employee. Thank God.
Carrie. (chooses to stay silent) ...
Employee. Who are they for?
Again, how is it possibly any of her business? So I go into the spiel. "I'm costuming La Cage Aux Folles at the theatre. You know the film 'The Birdcage?' Yeah, well it's the musical version of that. Yes, there are boys dressed up as girls. Yep, drag queens. Yes, there are men in Amarillo who are doing that. Uh huh, two of them are straight. Okay, well thanks for your help. Byeeeeee."
I've gone through more or less the same version of that, over and over since I started this escapade.
It happened again at the register. I guess most people don't come in and buy five feather boas at a time. When pressed - because I suppose people MUST KNOW WHAT THE BOAS ARE FOR (I totally would) - I go through my explanation again.
The responses run the gamut from offended to amused, which I suppose is normal for this sort of show and the area in which we live. But the capper today was when I went into Toys R Us (which actually has a backwards R in the title, but damned if I know how to type that) to buy Nerf softballs.
Nerf softballs. Cheaper than chicken cutlets by a long shot, and the appropriate size that when sawed in half, they fill up a strapless 36 C. Brilliance.
So I'm digging around in the ball cage, trying to find 6 of these little darlings, when an employee offers to help.
Dear God. Deliver me, please.
I accept his help graciously, until he asks what I'm going to do with six Nerf softballs.
WHAT!? CAN'T A GIRL BUY SIX NERF SOFTBALLS WITHOUT THE SPANISH INQUISITION?
I came so close to saying "BOOBS," and flouncing off.
Okay, fine, I didn't.
So I tell him I'm going to cut them in half, sew them into strapless bras and make six boys into girls for a play. I say this with my chin jutted out defiantly, like I DARE HIM to make a comment.
Then I cave, and say, "Sorry, I hate to be the pervert on the Nerf Aisle."
He responds with, "No, that's not weird. There's a creepy guy that comes in here every week buying girl action figures and dolls by the cartload. HE'S weird."
Wow. Who knew Toys R Us was such a seedy underbelly of corruption, right?
So anyway, yeah. Interesting times. Definitely interesting.