My Hunny was leaving for work this morning, in a jovial mood, when he poked his head back in the door and said in his most ominous voice, "The clown is going to die." I think we need to name the clown. It's much more difficult to kill something if it has a name.
I told y'all I'd found a good hiding place for the clown? I'm pretty darn proud of myself. See, first I'd tucked him into my Hunny's jacket pocket, with the little pompom on the top of his hat poking out. Red Rocks saw me hiding it and freaked - something about the clown scaring dad and that just being mean - blah blah blah. He moved it to a shelf.
So. Where to put the clown? See for yourselves:
Yeahhhhhh. Right at eye level. I keep the curtain drawn to keep it from mildewing in the creases anyway, so nothing suspicious there. Kinda like a Psycho thing going on, huh? Now, where do I hide it next?
Oh, and I can't help having a pink shower, okay? It came with the house. Ugly as sin, it is.
Wait. I have to go find the little fella and make sure he's still in one piece.
Until I write again ...
P.S. I can't find my wee scary clown, and my Hunny's not answering his phone. I'm scared.