Speaking Of People Watching ……..

Okay boys and girls I have a little adventure to tell you about. Very recently I found myself at the mall with my wife, my birthday present to her was not actually a present, it was a trip to her favorite stores to pick out clothes she has wanted. The longer we are married the harder it is to get gifts for special occasions. Some of y’all might actually feel the same way, plus giving someone a gift blindly is very hit or miss, what they liked yesterday may have very well changed overnight. So, I have a bad habit, I don’t buy gifts, we go places or do something or in this case we made a special trip to the mall. In general, my wife was a little confused, for the first time I wasn’t clear about the budget, sure I had one in mind since going over the budget would have cut into the bill paying. Nevertheless, I told her that she had free reign, she knows the bank account and so forth and I knew she would “shop responsibly” in the end. Plus, as a direct bonus to me, I was there to help pick out new summer attire, that is if she actually buys anything. Usually, whether for work or for street clothes, I always get to go because she wants my “opinion”. Oh well, its just the way it is.

The first place she goes into is Victoria’s Secret, a store in my opinion which has gone seriously down hill because everything is geared toward the “teen” and everything has become tame and lame. I understand business, but I remember the Victoria’s Secret from back in the day when I was dating my ex, and it rivaled Fredrick’s of Hollywood at the time. So, the moral of the story is that if you want “trashy” lingerie you need to shop at Zone D Exotica or buy it online. How can a person buy lingerie, in general, online? Anyhow, we go in because she “needs” (wants) new bras and Victoria’s secret has convinced her over the years that she can only wear their brand bras because of her figure. At least that is the line I’ve heard from them and my wife repeat. Ok, she’s 5’2″, about 115#, where’s a size 2, and sports 36DDDs. I joked with her the other day because she was feeling her age, and in a complimentary fashion I mentioned that I haven’t noticed her age because the boobs are still rockin’ all on their own. She tells me one day they won’t be that way, yea, but that day is not today! In the store she picks out a few sets of varying colors, I know this because she tells me as we go along. I don’t personally care what they look like, however I don’t care for the padded ones since she doesn’t need help squishing the boobs out. I can always convince the employees that I need to be in the fitting room with her because she cant come out to show me and model the lingerie. In 17 years I have been told no only once, and that just turned into selfie after selfie after selfie. Other husbands sit outside, looking very uncomfortable sitting in the pink and white striped boudoir chair, holding her purse, and keeping the small children in line. So, we found one bra and panty set that she was happy with, she tried on 14 sets and some more singles. I’m not complaining, I enjoy the show, in fact I love the show, I was just saying. We wait in line, pay the $72.89, and we exit happily.

She wanted some new jean shorts, tank tops, and a new bikini. I don’t know that all of those things can be purchased in one store, but we were going to give it a shot. She likes Hollister so we started there, not my favorite store, clothes are more for the teen with an assload of daddy’s money. But, she likes their jeans and jean shorts. Being familiar with this store as she comes here allot, I know that when its time to try on everything that is there barely enough room for one person, so I know I will be riding the imitation plastic leather couch, holding her purse and the remainder of the clothes. How do you try on clothes in a 2’x2′ closet anyway? She was put in the room right by the end of the couch, I could touch the door handle I was so close. One thing I hate about this store is the over abuse of perfumes and colognes people wear in a confined space. Makes my eyes water, not good when I wear contacts. Reminds me of the VIP rooms at a strip club, mixed perfumes, mixed sweat in the chairs, spilled alcohol on the floor, it generally has such a musk that it reminds me of a funeral parlor where all of the older ladies feel they must bath in their preferred scent as if to compete with all of the others. I like a lite pleasant smell, one you don’t notice until you are close to the nape of the neck, y’all know what I’m talking about. Then, BOOM, she walks out in a pair of these jean shorts that are very tight, very short, yet still tasteful enough because her vagina isn’t eating them and spilling out the leg holes. Impressive! My wife does not get into the whole “if it zips it fits” craze. She prefers comfortably snug. She tries on a few more, same style, different colors, they all look fine enough to me, but that’s not the answer we are looking for and I know it, so I go for the white pair and the blue jean pair, both show off her tanned legs nicely. Holy fuck! Two pair of shorts were $93.89 and we still weren’t done, off to the Guess store, a personal favorite of mine.

The Guess store was an utter clusterfuck with the summer sale going on, shit everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be, employees talking and texting instead of helping people out. Luckily for us, the bathing suit section hadn’t been raped and ransacked yet, well not real bad in my opinion. She picks out three that she likes and one I was fond of because it was different. She hates all of them after trying them on, looking to old ladyish for her taste. At this point in time she talks me into driving to Galveston, about a 50 minute drive for us, to go suit shopping, she wants to go back to a place she bought hers for our trip to Florida a few years back. Sure, why not, I was done with the mall anyway. We load up her bags in the trunk of the Mustang and head to the Strand, a section of Galveston that has existed since the 1800s, now its mostly shops, bars, and restaurants. While driving through Houston in average Houston traffic, meaning it was steady and thick but moving at about 75mph, my wife slips off the jeans she is wearing, surprise for me, and slips on her new white shorts after cutting the tags off. I didn’t even see her bring them into the car. Ever want to make the women in the car next to you on the passenger side blush? Have your wife changing in the car doing 80 mph passing an SUV with the woman and her boys in the back seat gawking. We arrived safely to Galveston, park, pay, and off we are walking.

She spots a few tanks in the window of the surf shop we were walking by and pulls me inside to go check them out. She was looking for the kind one wears sans bra, its a special kind from what she tells me, got a liner in it so the person wearing it isn’t pointing at everyone looking like she is smuggling raisins. I’m good either way. This is a giant store, there are racks after racks after rack of bathing suits, even the female employees were wearing tiny little bikinis. I like this place already. It was amazing to watch the guys in the store that were there with their wives, girlfriends, friends, or significant others. While watching them watching the tiny bikini clad girls walk around, bending over with straight legs, and stretching to the point that the material of their tops was at the point of failing, which would be catastrophic, boobs everywhere if it happens., I noticed that they also were selling margaritas and daiquiris, bonus. Cheap as well, I don’t prefer frozen margaritas but two giant one’s served in a souvenir style cup with a really crazy straw was only eight bucks. I hand my wife hers and away we go to start the hunt. She picked out one style she liked, only one suit too, and without showing it to me on the hanger she disappears into the changing room. I meandered over, giving her time to wiggle out of her closes and wiggle back into the suit she is trying on. She pulls the curtain back far enough for me to tie the strings on the back for her. She closes the curtain, and we know why, she needs the time to “adjust” everything so there is nothing hanging out that shouldn’t be. The curtain rips open! There she stands, my tanned wife in a white bikini, she is looking slick, she spins in the mirrors outside the changing room, and I guess she decides she is not liking it after all. I’m instructed to stand there and guard her “stuff” while she gets another. Remember I was talking about the guys in the store, well, they aren’t shy about staring, not even a little subtle, but then again, I was pleasantly watching her walk away as well. I see an employee, half her age, helping her out, pointing around and so forth, and then my wife returns. I was told she didn’t care for the first one, the bottoms felt like they were sliding inside her and she feared a very revealing cameltoe. So, she explained she was looking for “cunt huggers” not “cunt eaters” like the one she just tried on. She gets a dirty potty mouth at all the appropriate times, but I saw her point, trust me. She finds one that makes her happy, I never got to see it either, I was told it will be a surprise. While doing a secret check out, hiding it all from me, the same employee who was helping her began talking with my wife again. Apparently she is the manager of the store and thinks my wife has some talents that she would like to employ. Yes, she offered her a job on the weekends. The pay wasn’t bad, $20 an hour plus tips, part time, no benefits, but 80% of clothing in the store as long as she was an employee. Also, she would be able to use my veteran’s discount for an additional 10% off. My wife is actually considering it, she thinks it will be fun, she likes the uniform, and she thinks she would be a help to the older crowd who are a bit shyer in their needs. She has to call her by this Friday afternoon if she wants to give it a shot this weekend.

So now we walk around some more, stopping in at many more island shops, drinking many more margaritas, and finally we got back in the car, not to go home, but to head to the seawall to park so we could go walk the beach for a while. There was a beautiful sunset, we watched the sun slowly but surely descend into the depths of the horizon. Feeling hungry we walked over to a seafood place, I cant remember the name tho for some reason, but we went in, it was very laid back, had classic rock playing relatively load, but it was the coziness of it that made it a cool environment. We ordered, we ate, we talked, talked allot about this summer and what we wanted to do, we are going to San Antonio for the 4th of July weekend, which I already knew, since it is going to be my father’s day present from the kids. To sum it all up, it was nice to go out alone with my wife, something that is very rare anymore, but this is something we both committed to change starting right then. Fine with me, that’s why I married her, to spend time with her, to be able to do things together. There are many more reasons of course, but we wanted a life together to do things together. Also, we discussed the upcoming concerts for the rest of the year, told me to pick three or four so we could go. Has my wife received a headwound? She is volunteering to see rock concerts? Nice. I mentioned our vacation to Florida two years ago, I was doing something with the kids and I get a text from my wife with this picture attached, asking me if I would join her on the beach for a walk. What do y’all think my answer was?

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All She Had On Was The Radio

Every once in a while I feel that I can share a little bit about my personal life without giving away that I’m actually a living breathing human being who has a life outside everything else I do. I had a funny haha last week that I think y’all could see how one line of text can have a thousand meanings on one’s head when, in reality, it was an attention getter to intentionally mislead me, to distract me from what I was actually doing at the time. Luckily, for me, I was intrigued enough to investigate. Let’s set up the plot, I was outside messing around with my daughter’s car, maintenance mostly, new air cleaner, windshield wiper replacement, windshield wiper fluid refill, and a taillight bulb replacement. Simple enough, something she asked that I do while she was out of town. In fact, the house was empty with the exception of my wife and I. That whole scenario can lead to big trouble, usually means I’m steam cleaning the carpet. So, being outside taking care of little things that needed to be done was just fine with me. At about lunch time I start getting texts asking if I’m hungry, asking what I’m doing, and how long I was going to be, tell you the truth I was starting to get annoyed a bit, telling her to bring her ass outside if she was so curious. Then there was about thirty minutes of silence.

Then she sends this text, “all I have on is the radio, want to dance?” It was drizzling out, I was all but done outside anyway, so I didn’t answer the text, I don’t think I was supposed to, I think I did the right thing by just going inside to see what in the world was going on. I opened the door to a quiet house, and all I could hear was the radio coming from the back bedroom, my bedroom. First I did stop by the kitchen, which was on the way, to wash my hands and to get a drink of water, then I followed the song on the radio that was playing. I was lead to the bathroom in fact, where I find my wife taking a bubble bath, then she tells me that she told me all she had on was the radio. I will leave the rest to your imagination, if you have one, if not then just know that we both had a nice candle lit bubble bath together.

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Later on in the afternoon she wanted to get out of the house, to go somewhere, just go out to get out of the house, no kids, no wondering what the kids would do for dinner, nothing, just go for a drive and see where we end up. So, she got all dolled up, wearing my favorite jeans, a ZZ Top t-shirt, and her hair pulled back in a tight pony tail. She’s up to something, I just know it. We drove around in her new mustang for a few hours, she makes me drive, I don’t know, its weird with her, if I’m in the car she wants me to do the driving, been like that since day one. I thought it would change with her new car, but no, same old habits. What if I want to get chauffeured every once in a while? I’ve learned, don’t ask that particular question to her, it doesn’t end well at all. I just figure if we are in her car that she would want to drive. After not eating lunch I was starting to get real hungry, I asked if she had any suggestions, no of course, said for me to pick. Fine, I pick Joe’s Crab Shack, it was close and I haven’t been there in a few years. Dinner was good, margaritas were decent, and my company was very good. It gave us an opportunity to talk, to have a “date night”, and just be us for once in so many years. I get it, we don’t get allot of one on one time, we are always doing something, or we always have the kids tagging along, so it was, in fact, very weird, a little too quiet if you ask me. But, it was a fantastic night, I wouldn’t trade it for anything, never, we need many more of these “date nights”.

Soon enough, we would leave, she wanted to head across the freeway to go to the mall for a few minutes, she wanted to go in to get some makeup that they only sell at the one store. I knew it, I knew there was a plot, I new it was too good to be true, I knew I just gave up the next hour of my life because we cant decide which shade of black she wants for eyeliner. Of course, I’ve been a victim in this store before, I hate this store, so much I can’t bring myself to even type the fucking name. Plus, she asks me, the colorblind motherfucker, which color do I like, I always just answer with the one that has the cool, off the wall name, has kept me out of trouble for many years. This time, with no kids, I had no excuse to go to the Lego store or to Brookstone, I had to go in, her not letting go of my hand was the tell tale sign for me, I was already getting the cold sweats, fuck I hate this store. As a pleasant surprise, she walks in, never letting go of my hand, because I would have run for cover and she knows it, she picked up what she came in for, a compact of something or another, and we then checked out, we were in this beast of a pit less than five minutes, tops. Not a word from me either, and not a word from her either, we were just done, just in and out, scary.

Then we head to Sears, where I get told to hang out for a while, and that she would return for me shortly. Huh? She tells me to just roll with it, don’t worry about it, she would be back. Well, okay then, I shall just wander around Sears for a “while”. I didn’t see much I haven’t seen before, same tools, same lawn mowers and lawn shit, same beds, same vacuum cleaners, same appliances, and the same conditions at the shoe department, nice shoes I like, decent prices, but only go up to size 13, which is bullshit. Why can’t we just carry size 16 so I can at least try them on? But then again, that is the same scenario at all shoe stores in the mall, which is also bullshit. So, I’ve managed to kill almost thirty minutes and still no wife, so I make my way to the jewelry counter, not getting anything, just wanted to get my watch cleaned, they use one of those sonic washers which is pretty cool, gets all the muck out of the crevices. Just before the lady is done with my watch my wife slinks up behind me, wanting to know what I was buying. Then she sees the lady bringing my shiny black watch back and then she knows I’m not buying anything, no need to, I bought this very Fossil Relic watch in November of 1999 and it’s never, not once, given me any shit or reason to replace it, I make Father’s Day, birthdays, and Christmas a bitch for everyone, because a watch is never an option. After putting old faithful back on my wrist I notice she is carrying a Victoria’s Secret bag, which she will NOT let me look into. Trust me, I tried, no dice. How rude. Hand in hand we leave Sears, one more stop I’m told, which is good, its 8:45, and the mall closes in fifteen minutes, bonus.

We end up at Hollister, not my favorite, yet not the worst place to shop for women’s clothing. But, damn, this place is so expensive, I always expect to have to pay some kind of “cover” every time I walk thru the doors. This one is cool though, the entire staff is all female, dress like strippers, the lights are down low, the music is always bumping, and they offer complimentary bottled water. Plus, Plus, Plus, and Plus for me. Okay, she shops here at the teenie bopper store because they carry her size, “0”, and the only other place that carries that size in most of the pants is Guess, but she has never been let down here. I took a seat, she begins the hunt, she’s like a lioness on the prowl, stalking her prey on the open savanna, and when she finds the one that catches her eye, she pounces. It’s fun to watch, deadly on the wallet, but still I appreciate watching this part of the “chase”. She finds three pair, all blingless, all slightly torn in various places, but ones she seems to like. Off to the changing room, let the show begin! My wife is a natural born tease, she knows I still check out her ass, she knows my eyes still follow her around as she passes by, so, she abuses me with it, and she knows she is doing it. I liked all three, well, two of them, the stretchy ones I really don’t like. They look like jeans, don’t feel like jeans, and just “aren’t right” in some weird old school way. I know, I’m showing my age here, I cant help it, I don’t like them, they just aren’t right. The other two, perfect, absolutely perfect!

Now we head out of the mall, my wife reluctant to let me carry the bags, which is odd, I’m the guy you always see carrying the bags, but not tonight, which is fine, its weird, but fine. Get out to the car, bags in the truck, out of sight, and we head on home. When we get there, now nine-thirtyish, I settle into my chair, flip on the television, and find I have missed the first half of River Monsters, oh well, he never finds the big monsters until the end of the show anyway, that man pulls some fucked up fish from the depths of the rivers and lakes, and just think I used to like going out on the water, but now that I know it’s full of all the different kinds of “nopefish” I may just have to stick to the cement ponds. I never bothered turning on any lights because I didn’t plan on being out there in the living room very long anyway. You know that eerie feeling you get when you just know there is someone behind you, the feeling that makes all the short hairs on your body become electrified? I got that feeling, soon after I feel the cool hands I know so well, come across my shoulders. She held my head so I couldn’t turn my head, told me to close my eyes, and I feel her hands leave me. Moments later, I open my eyes to see my wife wearing what she bought at Victoria’s Secret. Um, OMFG!

By the morning the house was full with kids again, the hustle and bustle of everyone getting ready for work and for school. It was nice while it lasted, the quiet times, the time with my wife alone, and the not having to worry about everything happing around us. Out of the blue I get a kiss on the cheek from my daughter and a thank you for taking care of her car. My son, gives me a fist bump, he’s getting too old to hug me I guess, all of thirteen. As I stand in front of the kitchen sink taking my medications I feel a familiar touch of a cool hand going under my shirt onto my back, and then a kiss between the shoulder blades. No good morning, not that I usually get a verbal good morning, just what I got, it was nice, real nice. Then as softly as she appeared she slinked into the shadows of the hallway heading to the bedroom, undoubtedly to finish getting dressed for work. As I drove off to work I remembered that the entire day prior all started with a clever text, “all I have on is the radio”, what a nice thought.

Twas The Weekend Before Christmas

Over the years we, meaning my wife and I, have found that Christmas shopping, as we know it, is usually done well before black Friday ever arrives. This year, being no different, we (she) was done, but then again, we don’t buy much for too many people, usually just the kids and my granddaughter. So, for fun, keeping with our little “family tradition”, we always go to the Katie Mills Outlet Mall the last weekend before Christmas. Why? If we have no need to go why go, is that what y’all are asking? Its easy, since we don’t have a “need” to be there or go there it makes it “fun” for a people watcher like me. My wife, on the other hand, likes to go be amongst her people, shoppers in a frantic, and just see if there are any five for one specials at Bath & Bodyworks. It also gives us a chance to go into Fredrick’s of Hollywood, since Victoria’s Secret has been sucking hind tit for the last ten years or so, because she loves to buy lingerie even though it ends up on the floor in a heap after five minutes, but it does keep things interesting wondering what she is wearing under her hoodie footies this time of year. Have I ever mentioned we don’t buy each other presents, we never have. But, she always buys some very interesting lingerie and then gives me a fashion show of sorts. Its all good clean fun. Every year, since the beginning, we go out, I give her my ideas, say ten to a dozen, then she buys what she wants, then I’m surprised. The cool thing about the Fredrick’s of Hollywood out there is that it does not make them (employees) uncomfortable when I’m in the changing room, try that at a Victoria’s Secret, it isn’t going to happen.

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So, we unleash our kids on the mall, giving them a rally time, and my wife and I go to all her favorite stores, this is the perfect time to try on clothes, especially because we both know we’re just “window shopping”. We hit about fifteen of the big brand name places, you know the ones, they are jam packed with crazies that are only at number two on their list of many. Its fun to watch the feeding frenzy knowing that we are only really there to run interference and give grief to those ladies trying to just get through one more day. You would think at our age we could find better ways to spend our time or have better things to do, but we don’t, this is what we do for fun, free entertainment is always a great deal in my book. Hell, we even wait in line to see Santa Claus, kidless of course, where we both sit on Santa’s lap at the same time. And, no, we don’t spend the $39.89 for the cheesy picture either. This year I think ol’ Santa was trying to cop a feel on my wife, his hands weren’t always in view, and my wife isn’t talking. Anyway, this year’s wait was only 38 minutes. Again, its just something we do, and we have never been told NO by Santa either. We cannot say the same about the Easter Bunny, this year she was a bitch and told us she didn’t take pictures with adults. She wouldn’t even just let my wife, all 109 lbs of her, sit on her precious lap. Hey, we take it when we can get it. I have always wondered what kind of person wants, therefore makes a choice to do so, to dress up as a seasonal character for the sole purpose of have kids ride your lap. Seems kinda creepy to me, but I’m just saying.

Eventually we wound up at Fredrick’s of Hollywood. I determined this year that their goal was to make slutty lingerie available to everyone, I don’t remember seeing any 5X sizes last year. Which was a bitch this year because we were having a difficult time finding anything in a small/medium. My wife has an issue you see, petite 5’2″ body but 34DDD chest. Yes, I’m lucky, I get that, but it is a pain in the ass as well because sizes which should fit her don’t without blowing the buttons off. Anyway, the shame of what I’m trying to say is it would appear the market for lingerie has changed. No, I don’t have a problem with that fact, but places should remember that there are still some petite women out there in the real world who need to buy clothes for work and play. And no, so just keep your comments to yourself, I don’t have an issue with plus size women, that wasn’t the point I was making, I was merely mentioning that in this store particularly, I have never seen anything above the XL size. So, to sum up, its the same small ass store, but their inventory for people my wife’s size has dropped considerably. Yes, everyone should have the same shopping opportunities when shopping for slutty lingerie, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of reducing the quantity of smaller sizes in all their options. Anyway, I could go on and on and on but there are other things to talk about. I will say one thing about women knowing what size they wear, most of them don’t. How can that be? Why does a person who wears 3X clothing normally think that because its lingerie she could maybe make a medium fit? Yes, I did witness this first hand, because she stepped out of the changing room in the medium to ask her significant other if he thought she needed a large. Guess what his answer was. I don’t know personally, because we were gone shortly afterwards.

We had some jean shopping to go do, yes to actually buy if they had her style and size, again, we have found many places don’t carry size “0” anymore unless you order it online. However, lucky for us we did get instant purchase gratification at her two favorite stores. My wife is simple when it comes to jeans, she wears two brands, one being Guess and the other being Rockies. The hard part for her is picking what color and/or shade that tickles her fancy this year. Lucky for me, she doesn’t mind wearing the tight jeans, nothing against baggie jeans, but her preference is wearing them tight. I tell her either way is fine, I have for years, but in the end she always goes for the tight look because she likes it and she knows I like it as well. The western store has an interesting flow of customers, it goes in every direction. This is where our afternoon got interesting. We had made our way through the herds of people, we made our way through the racks, and we waited in line for her to get a changing room. Fucking place has 25 changing rooms for the women, 8 for the men, out of the 25 changing rooms they were only using 11 for the women and 2 for the men. When her turn came after 28 minutes she begins her ritual, try on a pair, step out to look in the octagonal surround mirrors, come give me a good look, and slink away back into the changing room for the next round, each round takes 7 to 8 minutes for her. On her second trip out she caught this kid, I say kid, early twenties, checking her out, game on, now she turned up the heat, now its time to fuck with the punk. Although she will never admit to doing it, I can see it, I’ve been checking out my wife’s ass for 16 plus years, I know when she is strutting a little harder than normal. About the time he had his tongue down on the carpet I watched his wife/girlfriend/significant other (so hard to tell these days, nobody wears wedding rings anymore) slap him across the face and asked what in the holy fuck did he think he was doing checking someone else out. Ok, sure, there’s some insecurities in that relationship, that’s obvious as hell, but she wants to make a scene.

My wife is cruel to other women, and men alike, she just turned 40 (now I’m probably dead) and works hard to keep her body the way it looks. She made a choice long ago that she wasn’t going to be one of those wives that just say fuck it and not care how she looks. And no, I honestly don’t think its for me, she has been like this before I met her, I do benefit of course, but in my opinion it is her pride that keeps her motivated. She sees people (especially family) and does not want to be those women. I stay out of it, I have no room to say anything, I’m in my mid-40s and haven’t exactly taken the best care of myself. I could do better, but I’ll admit I’m lazy. But, we do walk every night, we do our five miles, of course I do five and hers ends up being like 8 because she laps me so many times. She is one of those women who is proud of the curves she does have and proud as well for the curves she does not. Her downfall, really, if y’all asked me, is the fact that she work in a doctor’s office, she sees so many people with weight related health issues and she has commented to me that she plans on never being one of them. Perhaps she self aware, perhaps its vanity, perhaps its pride driven by the fact that she is a very strong willed/minded individual, perhaps its her stubbornness that drives her not to just age and settle, who knows.

Anyway, back to the mall. When the shopping was done and we continued to meander around, I discovered she had these two, lets call them high school age teenagers, following us around everywhere we went. I would look over and catch them, make eye contact, and they would act like I didn’t know what I was seeing. After confirming this is what was going on I whispered to my wife what I thought was going on. I was not prepared for all hell to break loose, but it did. We were in some store looking at purses for my wife, who wants (not need) a new purse. I find it strange that she wants a new purse every year when the current one is still going strong. I often point out I have been using the same wallet since 1989. Is it beat up? Yes. Is it wore out? Yes. Do I think I need a new one? Hell no. Funny part about that is she bought me one last year, put it in my Christmas stocking, its still in the box in my top dresser drawer. Anyway, she noticed one of these boys with his phone out pretty regularly and always being held in a somewhat discrete fashion. She put two and two together and had an OMGWTF moment, her gut instinct kicked in and she wanted to know why they were taking pictures of her, if that was what she was doing. She quick formulated a plan, we moved on to the shoe store, and she made herself “available” for unobstructed view. While they were distracted I went and stood behind them, and sure enough, they were taking pictures, mostly when she was bending down/over trying to get a tittie shot I guess. I text her to quickly walk towards them so they would be forced to turn around right into me. When the jig was up and they had been cornered my wife layed into them (verbally) in that harsh “motherly quiet tone” of fury women use. I didn’t get to hear all of it, but I know they erased the pictures off their phones with her watching. Sad thing is that the blonde haired boy was so scared of her he pissed his pants a little, his friend was nice enough to point it out as they walked away. When I asked what she said I was told to not worry about it.

That ends up being our holiday story. As uneventful as it was, it is what we do. We like to get out with all the freaks, frantics, and royal fucktards on the final weekend of shopping before Christmas only because we know we don’t “need” to be there, but we like to go out too, why let everyone else have all the shopping nightmare fun.

I’m Dreaming of a Scary Christmas

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I’m reminded by a regular reader and contributor to The Sting Of The Scorpion Blog that it seems that many Christmas stories we know today had a much different start so many years ago. Writers wrote stories differently way back in the early years. Many times stories were written down so they could be shared with many generations to come, most of which had always been word of mouth stories. This reader has taken a “look” into some of the roots for the rhyme or reason behind the scary season and why we love to see, read, and hear all of those great scary Christmas stories.

I know what you’re thinking. What possesses someone to write scary Christmas stories? What is there about Christmas that could possibly be considered scary, creepy, ghoulish, demented, or hair-raising?

Oh, where to start.

At their heart, scary Christmas stories are about subverting innocent childhood memories, adding eerie and unimagined dimensions to them. For regular people, Christmas is about celebration and wonder—or that mad dash to the mall. They aren’t like those strange, twisted individuals who imagine burning red eyes flaring alongside the other lights in a Christmas tree, or hear soot-caked claws scraping inside the brick belly of the chimney.

A Background on Scary Christmas Stories

I blame the Victorians. They loved their ghost stories, and Christmastime was when they gathered around the fire and did their best to scare each other. Charles Dickens almost single-handedly rescued Christmas—at least as a secular, feel-good holiday—through his famous ghost story, A Christmas Carol.

The practice has its roots in primitive Yuletide rituals, before the Christians came along and roped it all together into Christmas. Before anyone celebrated the birth of Christ, winter was a frightening time. The nights stretched on forever, the cold swept in, and nothing grew. Primitive people celebrated surviving to the halfway point—the winter solstice, or Yule—which represented the death and (hopeful) rebirth of the sun.

Christmas Eve back then was perhaps the darkest part of the year. With the sun gone and the light extinguished, the membrane between the worlds of the living and the dead grew thin. Ghost were allowed to escape, to wreak havoc or make amends.

So it’s plain to see that Christmas has always been scary. The light and innocence of the time was a direct response to the pervasive darkness and fear that came with winter. Like fairy tales, Christmas traditions often have grisly, Old-World origins that have been forgotten.

Even Santa had a dark side. Whatever his incarnation—Santa, Saint Nick, Father Christmas—he tended to have a shadow partner, a silent, hooded fellow named Black Pete or Knecht Ruprecht who doled out justice to those who had been naughty, usually beating them with a stick from the bundle he hauled around on his back.

And we won’t even start with Krampus (at least for now).

Suffice it to say, scary Christmas stories have very deep roots in our current culture, even though we aren’t really aware of them these days. A select few souls try to keep this tradition alive, usually by enjoying the scary Christmas tales told by others, or by penning a few ourselves.

5 Elements of Scary Christmas Stories

Scary Christmas stories come in all shapes and sizes and wrapping paper. But if you’re of a mind to scribble down a few scary holiday tales of your own, here are a few common elements to bear in mind.

1). Subversion, or do the Twist

This is the fun part. Find an aspect about the holiday and twist it around, or find a scary explanation for it. Tim Allen did this with his series The Santa Clause. Before it became a movie, it started out as a dark short story about a man who shoots Santa and then is doomed to take his place.

This is where the Doctor Who specials really shine. They take a beloved aspect of Christmas (e.g., glass globes, Christmas trees, Santas, stars, snow, snowmen, etc.) and twist it into something frightening (and fascinating).

So when you write your scary Christmas story, don’t forget to do the twist!

2). Yuletide Justice

Christmas is about justice. Children in particular understand this. Good kids get their reward, bad kids get their comeuppance, and all is well with the world. In a true Christmas story of the darker persuasion, don’t forget that in the end, Christmas Eve is one of those few times of the year when the scales of justice are in balance.

3). Reunions

Christmas is about coming together with family and friends—sometimes even from beyond the grave. The clarion call to return home for Christmas can easily be connected to the draw of nostalgia, the longing for times long past, for the innocence of childhood and the wonder of growing up.

That nostalgia draws loved ones together (even if the relationship has soured some) across miles, and sometimes worlds. Ghosts often find their way home for Christmas, but the return of a beloved family member from beyond the grave isn’t always what we imagine it will be.

And sometimes it isn’t love that draws the dearly departed back home. Sometimes, it’s revenge.

4). Powers Dark and Powers Bright

Because it’s considered a holiday for children, we usually play up the lighter, more whimsical aspects of Christmas. But a scary Christmas story should serve as a reminder that everything has its opposite. Good and evil, night and day, winter and spring, Santa and Ruprecht, Rudolph and Frosty. Just as the scales of justice must be balanced, make sure you balance the light with the dark.

5). Toys (and Other Bright Shiny Things)

Like it or not, Christmas is about toys these days. Most people love toys, especially writers. Like Anton Chekov, for instance. He reminds writers to: “Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that these is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter, it absolutely must go off. If it’s not going to be fired, it shouldn’t be hanging there.”

There is also writers’ favorite Christmas gift to their readers: the MacGuffin.

The “MacGuffin” was made famous by Alfred Hitchcock. It is a plot device that can take on many shapes and forms, but primarily serves as the motivation for the characters in a story. In many cases, it doesn’t matter what the MacGuffin is; what matter is that so many people in the story want it. A MacGuffin can be an object, a person, a place—a bag of cash, a suitcase bomb, a Maltese falcon, a jewel, etc.

So be sure to break out the best, shiniest MacGuffin for your story. Fire off that Chekov’s gun! Make sure your story makes good use of its toys. As I close, I remind everyone to look at their Christmas books, Christmas movies, and the sorted Christmas tales you tell, you might be surprised at it’s origin or true meaning. Tis the season to have a very Merry Scary Christmas!

Challenge Accepted By My Son

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Over the weekend we found ourselves at the mall for a bite to eat and then to see the movie Maleficent. The restaurant of choice was a Mexican one, I was voted down 4 to 1, but in my defense Casa Ole is not my favorite place in the world. To be perfectly honest, I’m not even a fan of Mexican food and I always get the same damn thing every damn time, chicken fajitas for two with all the bullshit on a side plate. Pictured above is the side plate in question which is chock full of the crap I will not be putting into my tortillas, ever. Really and truly it is an absolute waste to bring it to the table because it is rarely, if ever, touched.

This day, not unlike any other time coming to the mall (gag), my son was fired up and wanted to go to GameStop, a place he likes to try to get me to separate myself from some of my money in exchange for his newest favorite game of all time. Many times it is okay because he spends some of his money too. But not this time, this time he came with empty pockets, so he has been trying to convince me to “loan” him the money until we get home. Where is the fun in that? Then it hit me! I know how to end all of this game shopping business. I put my plate of cheese, sour cream, guacamole, pico, jalapeños, and spiced tomatoes in front of him and explained that if he cleaned the plate I would take him to GameStop to spend up to $100 any way he wanted. He looked at the plate for a few minutes and then accepted my challenge. He was allowed to eat it any way he pleased and could put it on his own food if he liked. I had so much faith in him completing this challenge that I even had a side bet going that he would do it.

As time passed he began nibbling at the edges, he planned in saving the guacamole til last because he really likes guacamole. Now, I have seen some pucker faces, I have seen some gag faces, and I have seen faces of disgust, but some if his faces were brand new to me. About ten minutes into it all my wife the party pooper decided it was over, challenge canceled. Why? Because my son sat directly across from her and she feared inevitably having projectile vomit coming her way soon based in the faces and reactions he was displaying. So, I keep my money. He said he couldn’t do any more anyways so whether it was ended prematurely by his mother is really a moog point now. But I lost my side bet because he failed the challenge.

As we discussed the challenge while walking to the movieplex I realized I had made a fatal mistake and it was now being pointed out by my son. The mistake? I said he had to clean the plate not eat everything on the plate. Eating it all was merely implied. He said he had given thought to scraping the plates contents into another plate but figured I would raise the bullshit flag in protect. I told him I would if honored it because of my oversight and his keen ability to seek the technicality. Something that won’t happen in the future I promise. As far as the movie Maleficent, I wasn’t a fan at all because Angelina Jolie was the only thing that kept me from napping. And I was surprised, we walked by GameStop twice and not a word from my son. We both learned our lessons and we will both come back next time better prepared.

 

 

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