
[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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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?

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."
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."

"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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