Is any one going to a fancy dress. I'm going as a dead soldier. I'm going to wear my Camo's and put fake blod trickling from out of my hair and mouth. Mwauahahahahaha. i'm not going to take any of my guns though as I don't want to be arrested!
I'm not going to a fancy dress, but my friend Wiggy is coming over for a sleep over. She's dressing up as a vampire and I'm dressing up as a cute 'lil witchy gurl. In other words its just an excuse to wear the shortest, tartyest skirt I own. And lime green and black striped tights.
Another scary thing that happened to me was when I was verrrry little. When I was a cute little tot, my darling daddy desided to have an affair with the lady over the road (*cough*Y-shaped coffin*cough*). Eventualy, after a lot of heart ache, Mum filed for devorce. One day, while daddy was doing a lot of crying and my poor mum was doing a lot of crying, I wandered into the room they were in (the kitchen). Mum didn't want me to see dad screaming his head off and definatly didn't want me to see her crying, so she sent me off into the living room to watch bag puss.
And there was a man there.
Sitting, bold as brass on the sofa, slouched against it with his legs crossed. He had a friendly enough face which, now I come to think about it, reminds me of AndrewDivoff (an actor). He was wearing a long sleeved checkered shirt, the kind you can buy at country shows and faded blue jeans. His hair was black and sholder length.
I was upset about mum crying and he asked me what was wrong. And the thing is I can remember talking to him, I can remember sitting in his lap and chatting away as if I'd known him all my life.
My mum and dad have no idea who this guy was. They remember argueing that day and me being sent out the room, but they don't know who this guy is. It was only mum, dad and me in the house that day, the only other person in the house was our black labradoor, Cherry.
I know its not creepy, because his was kind to me. What is creepy is that he was wearing the same sort of clothes my dad wears these days. Dirty, faded old jeans and a checkered shirt.