The Wax Man Cometh
We went through a few exhibits without any real goal in mind and the guards (for some reason they�ve got one posted every five steps) were getting antsy. Each one we passed � and we passed a lot of them; we were gravely out-numbered � reminded us of the impending closing time. Suddenly, Dusty wanted to see the wax man. So, we had a mission. The wax man is a wax sculpture of a construction worker who is so life-like, I�m surprised the guards weren�t asking him to beat it as well.
As we headed down the main corridor, a very ancient guard nearly ran Dusty down in his haste to converse with another museum employee. The employee, a middle-aged woman, said, �Well, hello, Frank. You nearly ran over that little girl!� He did not appear to hear her and kept moving toward her like an automaton. I got Dusty out of the way just before she became Flat Dusty. I caught the woman�s eye and thanked her silently for noticing us. And saying something to the old guy, even if he was deaf as a post(modern). And we continued on to the pop art section.
So, it�s ten �til five and we�re racing now, trying to find the wax man within the catacombs before closing time. One impertinent guard suddenly says over my shoulder, �Ma�am, we�re closing! Ma�am?� Over and over. God, shut up! I know!
I looked at my watch which read five minutes to five. �It�s five minutes to five.� �That�s when we close.� �Well, actually, what I�ve been told, ad nauseum, is that you close at five. Which it is not. We want to see one thing and then we�re gone.�
Then, Holy Jeebus, we found the wax man, with hundreds of guards trailing in our wake, ready to bodily thrust us through the floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. We took a breath, and then strolled out of the museum so that we weren�t attacked and burned for keeping them from leaving on time. God forbid. It�s not like they do anything but stand around all day and gossip.
On our way home, Dusty says, �I just saw a man who probably didn�t have a neck!� She was quiet for a moment, pondering this strange sight, and then asks, �How would he swallow?� �Well, I�m sure he just had one of those really fat necks that just looks like part of his head. I�m sure he can swallow just fine.� �Oh,� she said, visibly relieved.
Then, on Saturday, I arrived home from the grocery store and realized I�d forgotten to buy the spaghetti sauce for the in-law spinach lasagna. Kind of a key ingredient. I blank out like that sometimes and cross things off my list that my hand says I�ve put in the cart and my stupid brain just goes along with it without getting further confirmation from my intellect, which I apparently forget to bring with me.
So, I convinced Dusty to go with me to a place called Montpelier Food Store down the road. This place is situated at a crossroads and is a long, scary cinderblock building that I�ve never been in before. Mainly because it looks scary. Well, dog my cats! While I was expecting dusty convenience store food and rednecks behind the counter surrounded by tobacco and NASCAR advertising, I found a nice little mini-grocery store with a very pleasant Korean man behind the check-out. The counter had a 10-inch long conveyor belt. Ah, diversity! I don�t know if he owns the place or is simply an employee but I�ll be back.
I bought a bag of M&Ms to split between me, my husband and Dusty (livin� large!) and let Dusty pick the variety. She chose the crispy kind. She doesn�t often get candy and was quite excited to try a new and different version of M&Ms. Her verdict?
�It�s like M&Ms cereal!� Which is high praise, I guess. My first thought was: ick.
Then, �I need a wipe! I need a wipe! My hands are all M&M-ery!�