recent scarring events.

ohai.

If you've been paying attention at all, you should know I'm a paranoid little child who lives in constant terror of jellyfish, horror movies, and jellyfish.

But little House was an even more weird House, and there was one aspect of many birthday parties, trips to amusement parks, sporting events, and street fairs that terrified the crap out of me.

Those freakin people dressed up as things.

Like, at Disney World? The characters that walk around?

"WHY... HELLO THERE, LITTLE GIRL."

Yeah, those. *shivers*

Anyway. So a couple nights ago, Lynda, xiy, and I volunteered at a local public library to help out with this annual ice cream social. When the nice lady organizing the whole event had called me ~a week ago, I'd said whatever job was okay. Like, giving kids temporary tattoos can't be any more enriching than, like, running the sidewalk chalk station, right? Wrong.

Upon arrival, I discovered that my job was being the Summer Reading Bee's Helper. 

"THIS CHILD LOOKS PARTICULARLY SCRUMPTIOUS TONIGHT."

(I swear, the actual costume looks exactly like that.) [Minus the eyebrows.] 

So, I thought I would be let off "easy" and only have to escort this waddling bundle of bloody nightmares and terror for two hours. But no. The girl in the bee outfit got "overheated" after a few minutes, so I got to take a turn in the bee costume of hideous murder and death.

I felt really bad for a lot of the kids... they would be like, "No, mommy! No bee!! NO BEE!!!" And the mom would be like, "Oh, but look how friendly :D :D :D Hugs for the bee! Hugginggggg!"* And the kid would be like, "AHHHH NO BEE NO BEE NO BEE NO BEE NO BEE D: D:  DX DX DX"

I totally sympathise with the kids. *sighs*

Also, I suck at being the bee. My glove fell off once -.-"

Inside smelled of incense and lady shampoo. After showering twice (I'm going for a third in a couple minutes), I still can smell traces of it in my hair.

And that's been my weekend.

With all due respect,**

House.

**Unless you're someone who routinely dresses up in those freaking costumes. In your case, you also deserve many memories of horrified faces of poor, scarred children. And also a lifetime of guilt for damaging those poor kid's psyches so badly. 
*In that blasted costume, btw, "hugging" means (since you can't see much below your shoulders. two year-olds are rather short.) feeling random, sudden, and oddly gentle {considering the material for the costume was rather thick} contact on your waist-to-knee region. Such the greatest way to spend a Friday night...