A Thousand Guesses and A Million Dollars

Happy and Kate have left the two big kids (aka the IHPs) with their dad, Season One, and poor McLovin all alone to go play with GrandMere in New Jersey. *Fancy* New Jersey. Not Lydia New Jersey. I've mentioned this before. I love love love my MIL...together we're like Samantha and Endora, except not magical. But we totally have the hair, and that's all that matters...

[Editor's note:  I resent that.  I am from fancy New Jersey, read my bio.  I am just not fancy myself, that's why I had to leave.  I think they disapprove of boobstains and dirty yoga pants in my hometown.  That's my guess.  Carry on. - Lydia]

There's a couple of things that happen every time we visit.

1. We drink too much. But that's OK, because we also eat too much, so it absorbs all that extra alcohol. Lydia is giddy about the idea that, not only has she lost eight pounds since the Amish Paradise visit, but that there's a decent chance she's just transferring it all to Kate's ass.
2. We shop. We take her very fancy *convertible* Mercedes and drive through the ritziest parts of town, so we can park at the far end of the TJ Maxx/Marshall's lot. Three hours later, we come back like a tribe of aboriginal hunters with a fresh kill. We might as well hang our bags from 20 foot long bamboo poles and march them in singing some victory chant and blowing horns made of skulls. I now have a Vivienne Tam dress that WAS $450, marked down to $12.99. And then I tell myself to go Suck It.
3. We fall asleep at about 8:45pm. We tried to stay up one night, but both of us collapsed on the sofa after about 40 seconds. I woke up three hours later, my face planted in the crevice where the bottom cushion meets the back cushion. In other words, in the one place on the ENTIRE sofa where there is no cushion. But that's fine. I made my own pillow. Out of drool. Oh, that was gross, wasn't it?

So, we show up this time, and the first thing she says is, "You'll never guess what I bought. I was out with my friend Lillian and we drove past this vintage shop and the sign said Closing Down and one rack had a sign that said Everything $1. So we pulled in. It used to be Helen Hayes' favorite shop. So, guess what I bought. You never will. I'll give you a thousand guesses and a million dollars and you still won't get it."

I immediately yell out the answer, like I'm on Family Feud. Which, as I'm doing it, I realize that it's probably not a good idea to think of family feuds when you're in the middle of a guessing game with your mother in law.

"The mummified head of Helen Hayes!"

She almost gasped. "Wow, you're actually really close. We started pulling off the wigs off these ancient mannequins and trying them on. Lillian asked if they were for sale. And, since she's going out of business, she sold them to us. Wanna see it?"

No.

"It's looks a lot like your hair, but it's not fake blonde. It's real blonde."

By this point, I've fallen down. GrandMere is chasing Happy through the house, trying to get him to put on the "real blonde" wig. [Editor's Note: Correct me if I'm wrong here, but no matter the color, or dye job, isn't real hair preferable? It would seem not so much. -Kate] Happy is screaming like it's a giant hairy octopus. And then when I actually put it on to show him it's not scary, he says, "it looks the same."

And then, later during our visit:

"Guess what I joined? I'll give you a thousand guesses and a million dollars."

I slapped the table and yelled, "An island tribe who communicate by blowing conch shells!"

She frowned at me. "No, but again, you're close and that's creepy."

She's joined the Coast Guard Auxiliary. OK. That sounds good. What does the Coast Guard Auxiliary do?

"I don't know everything they do. But they do play Taps at funerals. And, I needed to beef up items for my obituary. So, I figure I'll learn how to play the bugle, and play taps at a few funerals and then we can add that to my obituary to make it more interesting." Then she nodded, sorta enthusiastically. "OH! Guess what I got for Happy?" and she races to the kitchen closet.

Umm, a bugle?

The next thing I hear is spitty, flagellant-y blasts coming from the kitchen. In walks Happy. With. A. Bugle.

"Wow. It is a bugle."  "That's. Super." 

She smiles. She tells Happy he can take it home. She'll just go buy another one. Then they can do a Taps duet. I tell her I finally got one right.

"You did! Good thing I didn't say a thousand guesses and a million dollars." Right. Good thing.

You know, if I put on the wig, I sorta look like the mummified head of Helen Hayes. I think I'm going to put *that* in my obituary.

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