Over the years, readers of this blog have kindly sympathized with my single status. They've been kind, but made known their wish for me: that love would find me. I've even had people read this blog and assume that they are there to fill whatever emptiness my heart has known.
My response to them has always been the same: Thank you. That's very kind, but I'm very well and satisfied with my status right now. I am here to tell you now that my longing is fulfilled. I did not know the shape of this emptiness until the man came to fill it and now I shall shout it from the cyber mountaintop.
Our school's new mascot costume has arrived!
Through a series of events I am unsure I could recount, I will be sponsoring a spirit organization at school next year. We'll handle the mascot, big inflatable tunnel, run with flags when our team scores, and sell big foam items (Stop it, I mean fingers and such. Wait, that's worse...nevermind). I've interviewed kids as to their willingness to paint their chests and ability to say phrases like "mascot camp" and "really pump up the spirit" with a straight face.
On the other, less human end, I've been commissioned to order a new mascot costume. I brought the right people into the decision, haggled with costume companies, and badgered them to find just the right shade of the school colors. It was a long, rugged process that added a special edge to testing season.
He's arrived. In all his rugged glory, he's here. Our mascot is a human character and carries with him the perfect combination of cartoon whimsy and rugged manliness. Just like the man of my dreams. Furthermore, I've found a quality I didn't even know I needed in a man*. When our handsome mascot arrived, all sealed in plastic, he smelled pleasantly of a fresh new permanent marker. I took a whiff and was smitten. It is as though he slipped me a roofie.
The man of my dreams is comical, rugged, and smells enough like magic marker to get me pleasantly silly.
*Please realize that my love for this man fades into total obscurity when the costume is worn by a teenager. It's just not how I roll, man.
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3 comments:
You got to custom order the man of your dreams? And he can't talk back, and he was sealed in plastic, and his aroma is pleasing (and let me know how long that lasts in Oklahoma heat, but you'll find this out soon enough, and I do not want to be a buzz killer)?
I almost resent this.
I assume you'll treat us to a photo in the near future? Gotta have a look at this guy!
I'm never quite sure what to get my wife for her birthday. Now I know!
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