Terrifying Swimsuit Face

I am trying to write a good post for today.  I swear that I am.  But I can’t.  I’m too creeped out by the terrifying swimsuit face.  It keeps staring at me from across the room and I can’t concentrate.  I was going to write something about how the whole family went to Kids Day on Saturday, and Ruby won a giant 3 foot teddy bear that is as big as her brother, and how I ate too much cotton candy, and how Edward got to ride in a real train, which is what he has been begging us to do for weeks.  But I can’t write about any of that stuff with that…thing looking at me.

See?!  It’s creepy, right?  I know that it is not really an evil demon face that is here to haunt me and/or drag me down to the pits of Hell, but try telling that to my overactive imagination.  My rational mind is fully aware that it is a piece of plastic that Ruby’s new bathing suit came on, and that, since apparently my daughter has grown three bathing suit sizes in the past year, I can’t toss it into the recycling bin, because I need to put the bathing suit back on it for exchanging purposes.  We need larger bathing suits.  But we also need smaller numbers of terrifying bathing suit faces staring at us while we try to type.

Is this because I am writing after midnight?  In the daylight, with people around me, it looked like a piece of plastic that a swimsuit might be sold on.  But now my family is asleep, the house is dark, and I am alone with a rectangular-headed creature that looks somewhat like an undead albino ninja turtle.  Not cool.

I could just get up and turn it so it is facing the other way, but since it is see-through and clear, I feel that this would accomplish nothing, other than I would have to get up, go over there, and touch it.  Which is perhaps its plan.  It may be trying to lure me over there.  I will not be fooled.  I will stay here on the couch with my guard cat.  I know that my cat would never let anything bad happen to me, unless of course she had something better to do, like nap.

Dang.  So much for guard cat.  I may be screwed.  Honestly, I should just go to bed.  I should stop writing and get the heck out of Dodge.  But I don’t want the scary plastic face to see where I am going.  I will have to distract it somehow.  Maybe I can throw something at it…  What do I have close at hand that I can throw…

No!  Do not throw guard cat!  That is a one-way ticket to Scratchville.  Instead, I will try to slink away by positioning myself so that the TV is between me and the monster, and then I will dash up the stairs to bed, where my wife will protect me from any scary trash that I might encounter.  Technically, as the male, it is my job to ward off burglars and evil spirits and whatnot, but we are a very progressive household, and these duties are shared equally between us.  Also, my wife is not as ridiculous as I am, so if a giant terrifying swimsuit face floated into our bedroom, she would probably inform it that it was not real, and then it would disappear, vanquished by the power of blunt common sense.  I would probably just hide.  In fact, if it weren’t for my wife, I would most likely be in hiding for a large percentage of the time.  She is awesome.

I actually thought about writing a nice post about her today in honor of Mother’s Day, you know, if the Kids’ Day post didn’t come together, but that didn’t happen, because I am too freaked out by the pretend face to write anything nice.  I will write nice things later.  Right now, I am going to sneak out of here and away from my nemesis, whom I have now named Smushtron.  Goodnight, Smushtron.  You look weird and frightening, and I will not miss you.  Enjoy your reign of terror while you can, because tomorrow you are going back to the store.

Unless…  Do I really want to be alone in the car with it…?

Posted in Fear, Photo, Scary, Writing.

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