The Box

"Mom.  I found your box."

"What box?"

"You know what box.  And it's very disturbing."

I had been Face-timing Kimmy from a cruise port to see how everything was going at home.  And she apparently found my blog box.

"What was in the box?" I asked.  I wanted to be sure we were talking about the same box.

She may have found the box containing my school pictures, which also would have been disturbing.

Or the box containing my toenails.

Just kidding.

"Where do I begin?" Kimmy replied.  "Barbie doll heads, poop play dough, mustache bandages.  Here. I'll show you."  She walked into my bedroom where the box was atop the bed, its contents overflowing.

"That's my blog box," I said.  "Don't mess it up."

Which is pretty funny considering the fact that for the past seven years I've been shoving blog props into the box.  I have to sit on it to get the top to fasten.

"I should have known," she said, removing a very expensive item.  "Is this your wine bra?"  

"Yes!  That's my Wine Rack Sports Bra.  You can use it if you clean it afterwards."  

Kimmy looked closer at the cloudy, mold-infested wine bladder that is virtually impossible to clean.  "I think I'll pass," she said, wisely.

She asked how my cruise was going and I told her about Miles, the creepy senior citizen who kept telling me how "youthful" I looked and followed me around the ship like a puppy dog.

Kimmy returned her attention to the box and removed another treasure.  "Here's a Barbie doll with no feet.  She's got band aids around her stumps."

"Oh, that's Handicapped Barbie," I said.  "She donated her feet to my Barbie Doll Foot earrings.  Be nice to her."

"Right.  And what the heck are these?" she asked, holding up a pair of baby socks with dust mops sewn to the bottom.

"Those are Kevin's.  For when I want him to sweep the floor."

"No comment.  What the heck?" she said, holding up my inflatable bra inserts.  

She said she was glad I didn't bring them along on my cruise.  Miles might have had a stroke.

Kimmy then held up a can of Poop Freeze and I explained to her that it makes Kevin's poop easier to pick up when it's warm outside.

"Freezes it right on the spot," I added. 

Kimmy had nothing to say about my Poop Freeze. 

"What is this?" she asked, holding up what looked like an unraveled ball of black yarn.

"I'm not sure," I said.  "It looks familiar."

She examined it more closely.  "It looks like the yarn is attached to fishnets."

Of course.  My hairy leg fishnet hose.

Damn!  I should have packed those.

Miles might have been following around some other youthful guest.  

Who shaves.