Read Signs Closely Before Entering

Just for the record, my memory sucks and I need to compose an actual descriptive list of all of my blog posts because I can’t remember what I’ve written about…

Okay, enough of that.

Yesterday Morgan called to review with me the awesomeness of the previous day that he spent with Angelo at the fair. He talked of fried and dipped foods. Perfect weather (which we never get at fair time, by the way). More perfect and awesomeness and heaven’s sunshine and halo’s and bacon and donut’s.

Perfect day. Except that when they thought they were going into the funhouse, they quickly realized that this was not fun. In fact, it was the exact opposite of fun. It was a haunted house. Trying to just make it through with their wit intact was a feat. There were heads flying around and black trash bags and attack poses and screaming and some pee. He didn’t say that, but he didn’t have to.

I asked, “chainsaws?” and he said, “no”. Phew. I hate a fucking chainsaw.

This reminded me of my own haunted house experience. Well, the one that I can remember clearly. Momma took me to at least one as a small child. What I remember is this: chainsaw guy, me screaming, momma laughing and screaming, and sliding out of the building from the roof. I’m sure the roof thing wasn’t real but the chainsaw guy was.

A few years ago a friend and her boyfriend were going to the local haunted house that they put out every Halloween…I can’t remember the name of it exactly but it should be called, “Come pay us to scare the shit out of you.” I, forgetting who I was, agreed to tag along. What? Dumb.

When you arrive there is a line… of course…seems logical to stand in line for terror. There are also these little children in scary masks yelling at you and calling you names. After you pay you are then ushered into a little black hallway, they only let about 3 people in at a time. So here we are. Boyfriend in the center, we are on either side of him holding on for dear life. We walk into the first room. It’s huge and dark with a cardboard house in the center. Then. CHAINSAW NOISE. PEE. From behind the cardboard house emerge two figures. Both in masks. Assholes. One carrying a chainsaw. Bigger asshole. The other is just walking calmly next to chainsaw guy. We are now running, well we girls are running, boyfriend is being dragged, around this room. It’s dark; we can’t find our way out. So, we are ineffectively running in circles and screaming. We plastered ourselves to the wall and just kept moving unable to escape. Finally, bigger asshole turns his chainsaw off (this is after about an hour of our escapade) and says in a small calm voice,

“Are you actually scared?”

We, now sitting atop the boyfriend’s head, shriek, “YES!”.

Then what did he do?

Turned the saw back on.

What did I do?

Ran. Ran like hell for the front door, which I knew I could find if I punched through enough sheetrock. As I’m leaving, nay, escaping, the small children are screaming “scaredy cat, scaredy cat”. “SHUT UP!” I scream at the ankle biters as I finally see daylight. I get outside and can finally breathe.

I find the exit door and sit outside of it, waiting for the idiots who continued with the terror to come outside. I can hear the screaming and then what do I hear? CHAINSAW! AGAIN! There was another bout of chainsaw dude when you get to the end! I should call the cops, this has got to be some sort of crime.

I’m glad I left when I did. I would not have made it. No way. No how.

Here is a puppy and kitty reenactment of my scaredness.

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I love it when you say things to me that reinforce me positively. So...carry on then, do that thing. Lastly, capital hat!