A seasonal stint at Juicy Couture left me with a gigantic pair of red sparkly lips from their window display after working a late-night post-Christmas shift.
"Typical," everyone said when I came in with them.
I hung them outside my bunk, much to Luke's dismay. The more festive my bunk becomes, the more things there are for him to hit his head on. Or get entangled in. Or burned by. Or hit on the head with. Our canoodling sessions have become increasingly absurd, noisy, and complicated as we try to navigate around and within the streamers, computer and telephone charging cords, Christmas lights, stuffed animals, posters, perfume and wine bottles littering my shelf, and, of course, the various casitas and toys and balloons from Wells Fargo. We'll emerge from behind the curtains along with a wayward pony or two and a loud crashing sound as some decoration plummets onto the floor; it's more perfectly staged than any tv show.
As you can imagine, the neighbors are pretty unenthusiastic about the evolving aesthetic of Boppity Bear Enterprises, especially when it's 3 am and the only sound is the loud crash of Luke being taken out by some ornamental tin. And now there are thumps outside my bunk in the middle of the night, when someone collides with the lips on the way to the bathroom. All in all, there are a few parties who I can safely say will not be sorry to see me leave for my sublet in February.
As for Josh and Carl, my brotherly compatriots on either side, they fully support the huge lips hanging outside the bunk. Especially in conjunction with the pink lights turned on on the inside.
"Open for business, Liz?" They ask as they walk by. Sure am.
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