Welcome to the produce section of the Fort Polk Commissary. I'll leave the six foot inflatable Frankenstein hovering over the tomatoes to your imagination. It took three shopping trips before Ruthie would go with me to buy fruit without the "take a deep breath, it's not real" talk. Thankfully, she shows no signs of PTSD. These decorations actually amuse me. Especially because we have referred to the commissary as the "kinda-scary" for several months. The moniker has proven prophetic.
Happy Halloween!
4 comments:
Whew, I'm glad those were only decorations. At first glance I thought you had gone food shopping barefoot and slipped as you were reaching in for "the best pumpkin" at the bottom of the pile.
: )
Good luck w/ the tricker treating sugar highs...I think there might be some spare insulin in the cupboard.
I want to go to the scary commisary! It might not be as traumatic for me as a haunted house. I love you, Mom : )
That made me laugh.
I am laughing so hard right now because when we went grocery shopping last week and saw those exact legs in the pumpkins, Lise said, "Look, Mom! Somebody fell and got stuck in the pumpkins!" The commissary is always good for entertainment value.
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