Wednesday, September 4, 2013


Actual conversation Dave and I had just now:

Me: Dude! You know where my tiara is?

Dave: No. Isn't it... (goes to look on bedroom bookshelf)

Me: That's what I thought, too, but it's not there.

Dave: Wait... (goes into computer room) ...It's in here.

Me: Oh, that's right. (taking it from him and nestling it on my head) I forgot. I had Wil Wheaton wearing it while he rode a shark.

Why was I looking for my tiara? Because my mother had just written to me saying that the anniversary weekend I'll be sharing with them and my brother was going to be quite casual, and she hoped I hadn't gone out and bought a new dress for the occasion. Which -- as I am the world's biggest jean-and-t-shirt wearer -- was completely unlikely, so I wrote her back saying I'd be sure to leave my elegant posh frock and tiara at home, then. 

Which of course prompted the sudden perverse urge to show up at the airport wearing a tiara. And I do have one. I got it to wear to a Zombie Prom event or something a few years back. And yes, now it lives on Wil Wheaton riding a shark.

I am a troubled queen.
Oh wait, no. Not troubled.
Squinting in the bright sunlight. That's it. 

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