Halloween is coming up. I'm not what you'd call "crafty" or "talented at sewing" (I once tried to hem a toddler-sized cow costume and ended up making the legs capri-length) so we buy our kids' costumes. Hence the reason for our trip to the ridiculously-overpriced Halloween store late last week.
Our nine-year-old wants to be a zombie. When he told me this I was all, "Yay cheap costume!" because I envisioned some torn-up dirty old clothes (which we have in abundance around here) and some cheap face paint. But of course, he wanted the fancy putty-stuff to make scars with and the (seven dollar!) decaying teeth that you put over your own. Ugh.
When he said he wanted the teeth, I was skeptical. I mean, the kid hates tags in his clothes - I couldn't imagine how he'd feel about sporting a big hunk of plastic in his mouth for the duration of Halloween. But before I could point that out, thereby saving myself seven bucks and a whole bunch of inevitable whining, my husband was like, "Wow, buddy, those are awesome! I think they'll be perfect."
So, we bought the teeth.
Just as I'd expected, Colin had them in his mouth for all of 2.5 seconds before he deemed them too uncomfortable and abandoned them on the kitchen counter. I was just about to launch into an epic "I told you so" speech when I noticed that the teeth were gone.
I had to chuckle when I saw where they'd ended up.
They might have been too big for Colin's little mouth, but they fit oddly perfectly into Curtis's. We had a good laugh, and I figured that was that.
Only it wasn't. Because the teeth kept reappearing. Or, more accurately, they never really disappeared. Curtis was obsessed with the damn things. Just as I thought he had put them away for good, they would materialize out of his pocket. All. Weekend. LONG.
He wore them with our Kindergartner's Harry Potter glasses.
He wore them while playing video games with the kids.
He wore them while on the computer.
He wore them while on the phone. WITH HIS WORK.
He wore them at dinner.
He wore them in bed.
Yesterday, he took them to his office and wore them when he spoke at his morning meeting. (Did I mention that when he wears the teeth, his accent typically slips into a redneckish drawl?) And he had them in last night. They're in his pocket as we speak, ready for their next great adventure. I can't take him anywhere without risking total mortification. He hasn't embarrassed me this much since that time he followed me around Target making farting noises.
At least we've gotten our seven dollars' worth. And then some.