Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Rockin' The Casbah

That'd be a pic of my big sis, Nancy... just in case any of you thought that I might be the only nutter in my family. I've had influence. Lots of it. I think we may be banned from the Morocco pavilion in EPCOT though. The woman ran a marathon and a half in two days (13.1 miles on Saturday and 26.2 miles on Sunday) - I'm so proud of her! So, it's just fine by me that she wanted to hang just this side of a bubble off of plumb for a while... and this was even before the drinking began! I don't know why, but all the men in the family deserted the shop when my Aunt, my niece-in-law and I started costuming her. Lightweights, the lot of 'em... can't take a second in the spotlight... no fortitude for infamy by association.

Ok, I can understand the rapid about-face that Homer did. He works for Disney. I can just picture some Uber Mouse calling him into an office high atop Cinderella's Castle... "Uh, listen Black... no more free passes for your family, capiche? We've got a reputation to uphold here. Plus, with the economy being what it is, we can't afford to have your Aunts scaring away the other tourists. In fact, we are considering doing an extended family psychological profile for you to determine if you're really fit to work here or not." "I understand. Sorry boss. Not that it excuses their behavior, but they are Northerners, y'know..." "Be that as it may, Black, we don't want their kind 'round these parts any more. Send 'em to Sea World next time."

As Nancy's husband Mikael reneged on his vow to never run again - evidenced by the speed with which he bolted from the shop - I could all but hear him screaming, "I married what?! Please, Homer, please... get me a Fast Pass for the Haitian Divorce ride!!!"

Jason, Nancy's son, didn't run with the others. He appeared to be wishing desperately for an invisibility cloak as he sidled along the wall until he was safely outside. We later found him under a bench near the Italian pavilion, drooling and singing It's A Small World. I'm sure his therapist's transcripts read something like, "And... and then, m-m-my Mom... my 51 year old Mom! ... she... ohgod... she started putting on this c-c-c-costu...ohgod..." "There, there... let it out. By the way, I'm writing you a prescription for Valium... take all you want."

Me? Hell... I started it. I was the one who grabbed the headdress and put it on her.

*evil grin*

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