In the Chicago H&M. They are earrings. I have died of irony overdose.
In a Winston-Salem Goodwill. Yes, I bought them. And, yes, they will be part of a needlessly complicated Beaux Arts costume.
Outside same Goodwill. I already have a wooden kitchen trash can with a hinged lid, otherwise I would have been all over this. It makes me giggle. I don’t know why.
On a job application. In response to the “have you ever been convicted of a felony” question, the applicant put “solt on a Govermet officer.” This does not make me giggle. It fills me with pungent sorrow.
On Stage 6. The fourth-year film I designed required a spooky child’s puppet. My prop master found this. My prop master is a genius.
