So it is that time of year when previously friendly teachers and carers show that they truly do despise us and put on an Easter hat parade. I had forgotten/repressed the fact that the Nazgul was having one today until yesterday. After frantically gathering supplies after the racks at the craft shop had been decimated by more organised and interested parents, the Nazgul and I picked up Rainman and headed home to face the inevitable.
I have a pintrest account which, along with making me marvel at what Americans eat and the previously discussed revolting fitness quotes, made me think I could and SHOULD use a hot glue gun. It may surprised you that I have a hot glue gun, it shocked the shit out of me too. I actually got it one school holiday to make Rainman some wizarding shit from this book he has but then he was an utter crap pony and it never eventuated. I had between 10 and 13 mins to make the damn hat and it dawned on me I was without the muse (known in some circles as wine). I could have called My First Husband to grab some on the way home but he bandies about the term "functional alcoholic" too much for my liking. Actually now I think about it, he may just mean I am dysfunctional sober and thinks I should drink more.
Anyway, within 5 mins of starting the venture fuelled only by dissatisfaction and disco I had not glued anything to the hat but I HAD glued an Aldi catalogue to the table. Within 7 mins I still had not glued anything to the hat but had burned my finger. It transpires that a $4.99 hot glue gun doesn't actually heat glue but if you touch the metal nozzle you discover that is hot. By this time I also had so much glitter over me I looked as if a fairy with explosive diarrhoea had staged some sort of dirty protest on my person. So I reverted to the 3 most useful things in my life: staples, sticky tape and blu-tack. Not long after this the Nazgul who although insane is the most competent in the family, politely suggested that I could go and leave her to stick some jewels on it by herself because I was ruining it.
My First Husband returned from work as I was attempting to hide the fact there was glitter on the steak, looked at my efforts which amounted to some felt eggs stapled on (for the record I WAS going to cover the staples on the inside so she didn't get stabbed in the head) and a dozen particularly special needs looking chicks with blu-tack and tape on their feet kind of dribbling down the side. He diplomatically suggested (generally when I am swearing at raw meat he knows to be diplomatic and to refrain from sudden movement) that perhaps he might attach to chicks to the hat later. Like many males he was more concerned with completing the task at hand than the overall aesthetic and compressed the chicks so they now appear to have spinal defects along with severe damage to the frontal lobes. The result is pure Nazgul and she is delighted.
Ignore the picture quality, I couldn't be arsed wiping the lens on the phone.
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