Pointing to a display of rhinestone and pearl-encrusted plastic tiaras, I tell Karen, “You know, Ima wear me one of them ti-aahh-ras when me and DaWyane get married, ’cause DaWayne says I’m his princess. “
We’ve stopped by AC Moore to pick up gesso, and we’re shocked to find they now have a wedding craft aisle. The aisle is full of….. well, it’s full of really questionable items, blogosphere. No part of your bridal attire should come from this aisle, and I don’t care that AC Moore says otherwise. They lie.
Wistfully fingering the tiara, I confide, “We just wanna wait ’til L’il DaWayne’s outta diapers.”
Karen nods. Tiaras and potty-trained babies are a reasonable part of wedding plans.
“I wore a tiara when me and Harlan got hitched,” she says. “It was pink with real faux diamonds.” Karen holds her hands up to her head, gesturing to indicate that the pink faux diamonds were the size of eggs.
“Ohhhh!” I say, ” Pink diamonds? Like JLo!”
“Yes m’am,” agrees Karen. “They’re the classiest kind of faux diamonds.”
A woman standing in the adjacent framing department is covertly watching us, listening, perplexed. Poor dear. Eavesdropping is tacky, and Karen and I are too classy to notice.
“DaWayne said he and Harlan was goin’ bowling,” I tell Karen. I shake my head and purse my lips, “But they got that whole case of Budweiser, and I just know they’re going to a titty bar.”
“I know it,” she commiserates, “I told Harlan if I find ONE MORE PAIR OF PANTIES in the pick-up truck….” She trails off, and I’m left wondering what Harlan’s fate will be if he’s caught packing panties ever again. It won’t be good.
My heart breaks for Karen; pretend Harlan can be a dog. My pretend DaWayne is too much of a gentleman to bring home panties when he goes to the strip club.
We’ve moved on from the wedding department, and as we walk through the store we comment on various items we pass, speculating on how we might use them.
Glitter-covered feather boas would be perfect with the tube tops I picked up at The Walmart: L’il DaWayne was NOT good in The Walmart, I tell Karen, “…and I told L’il DaWayne: ‘ You eat any more of them Cheetos and I’m gonna SMACK YOU!’ You gettin’ orange all over my tube tops!”
Day-glo panties made for the application of decals: “Ima put ‘PROPERTY OF DA WAYNE’ straight cross my butt,” I tell Karen.
She nods, but she’s clearly not in the mood to consider the same for her Harlan, what with all the stripper panties in the pick-up. Now I feel badly about pointing out the panties; panties are a sensitive subject in Harlan and Karen’s pretend marriage.
Plaster columns and pedestals: “We used to have one of them pedestals on each side the door,” I tell Karen, “and my DaWayne used to make me stand on ’em all the time, and I said ‘DA WAYNE! I cannot be getting up and down and up and down all day!’ We got rid of ’em cause they kept falling over on the baby, but DaWayne says I’ll always be on a pedestal to him. But I don’t even know what that means..”
“Harlan says the only reason to put a woman on a pedestal is to look up her skirt,” Karen responds.
Karen is just jealous, but I’m secretly tickled that my pretend DaWayne wants to look up my skirt.
“Well, I am definitely gonna need them decal panties now!”