Gather ‘round, darklings, for it’s story time. Mama Bones’ gotta let this toner sit on my hair a spell so I’m a silvery platinum goth, not some golden-blonde normal person.
So I’m at the drug store with Bird and I’m buying last minute 50% off shit: black velvet fake stilleto nails, huge lashes, etc. Sahmain cometh, y’know? And I’m babbling about how much we love Halloween to the cashier.
I’ve seen her a lot here. Her ‘holler’ accent is mighty: It crushes my twang. That’s typical for these parts, but I admit that I’ve filed her in my mind as Sweet Older Country-Type Lady.
Heh. This woman... so, she tells me her fam is SUPER into it, too. They used to dress her brother as a scarecrow dummy and he’d be corpse-still until the perfect moment to spring up and scare the holy hillbilly Protestant JESUS out of trick-or-treat-ers. And their parents.
And probably some cats.
So she goes on to tell us they used to turn their lawn into a graveyard and she just casually as fuck drops the fact that her neighbors have a coffin they let her borrow, and even more stunningly casually she says, "They usually sleep in it," and blows right past that with no explanation whatsoever. There's no tone of joke delivery. Nothing at all to indicate that there is anything at all unusual about sleeping in a coffin. We finish our mutual celebration of Halloween anticipation and Birdy and I head to the car.
Mollz says, "So I'm picturing 'What We Do in the Shadows'. You?"
I tell her "Yeah... or those goths that goth so hard they literally live like vampires."
We then in unison say, "What the fuh?" and "What the fuck?" and giggle all the way home.