My Haunt Widower


Husband is now referring to himself as a Haunt Widower and getting absolutely no sympathy for it.  Mostly because I haven’t seen him in a week.


So now it’s Friday and I’m short of conversations, unless you want Actual Conversations with Insane Haunt Patrons.

"can I speak to your manager haircut" meme with text reading: "takes kids to a haunted house, yells at actors for traumatizing her children and leaves a bad review"




ME:  (doing zombie stuff)
MOM CHARACTER:  (to kid)  Just cover your eyes, Derek!*
ME:  (pauses to take a good look at this shit parent; yep, she’s got the haircut)  (leans over kid, hisses)  Derrrrriiiiikkk
KID:  (screams, attempts escape, is held back by talons of Mom Character)
ME:  (is proud of self)  Taaaassstyyyy Deeeeeerrrrrrriiiiiikkkk
MOM CHARACTER:  (genuinely outraged)  Hey!  Lay off him!  He’s only 11 for chrissakes!**
ME:  (screeches in face of Mom Character)

So many people are getting this mug for Christmas. There will be questions, but the answer is “yes.”

Now, due to an injury, I’m stuck behind a puppet for the remainder of the season.  This is disappointing but I’ll survive.  I just talk to the puppet, sing to him, and together we punish the stupid.  There are ample opportunities for the latter.



ME:  (singing Golden Girls theme song)
GROUP:  (approaches)
ME:  (whispers to puppet)  It’s showtime!
PUPPET:  (attacks head of group)
GROUP:  (screams)
ME:  (giggles)
PUPPET:  (turns on middle of group)
BLONDE PONYTAIL #1:  Omigod, I thought that was fake!
BLONDE PONYTAIL #2:  Nooo, it’s totally real!  Run!
BLONDES:  (run)
PUPPET:  (snaps at rest of Group)
ME:  (laughing too hard to help puppet)

Pair of humans stand facing wall of guns; monster tentacle wraps around human leg, puls human away (presumably to his death)

In my state, humans are not allowed to touch each other in a haunted house.  Puppets are not human.


So that’s what I’ve been doing instead of talking to Husband.  I do see him, but he’s sleeping and I can’t bring myself to wake him just to tell him about my awesome night.  Plus, if I try to tell him about my awesome scares there’s a chance he’ll try (again!) to show me that brain-meltingly complex formula he came up with for something-something-jet-fuel-something.  I really don’t understand and never will but he keeps trying to explain, bless.


Ooh!  There was this one time…


ME:  (sneaks in quietly)
HIM:  (continues his impression of wet sneakers in the garbage disposal)
ME:  (trips silently over Alexander Hamilton)
HIM:  I’m not asleep.
ME:  (raises one eyebrow in the dark)  Really?
HIM:  Yeah.
ME:  Huh.
HIM:  …
ME:  Put your CPAP on.  (slips into bathroom)



I’m sure that’s plenty of communication to keep a marriage going.  Right?

hooded figure with scary face (beady eyes in dark sockets, wide grin, exaggerated features and wrinkles) Text reads: Good night



* Couple things.  Number one: “cover your eyes” is terrible advice and shit parenting, because what you can’t see will always be scarier than what you can.  That’s why horror movies (the best ones, anyway) wait as long as possible before showing you the monster, if they ever do.  “Cover your ears” is slightly better advice in a haunted house because we rely on sound to startle you but honestly, if you’re not into being scared how ‘bout you just don’t go in?  It’s your money, spend it on things you enjoy.  Number two: using someone’s name in a haunt is a thing you do if you hate that person.  We will—absolutely and unrepentantly—use that information.  We will pass it up and down the chain, and they will hear their name whispered or shouted at them everywhere they go.  Basically, naming names in a haunt is a dick move.  (We do it when our friends come through, because we are professional assholes.)


** Again, couple things.  He’s eleven, not four.  If he can’t hang, that’s on you, lady; I brought my kid up right and by that age he could handle a fucking haunted house.  I swear, I almost laughed in her face and pointed out that a child’s ticket is the same price as an adult ticket for a reason.  The way I see it, if you bring me your child you are paying me to scare them and give them nightmares.  I don’t know, maybe she found out the petting zoo was closed and figured a haunted house would be just as good?




10 comments on “My Haunt Widower

  1. You have The Best Job Ever. Period.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I detest being scared. I don’t do horror movies, and the only fairground ride I’ll do is the big wheel. One time the Girl Child insisted that her life would be incomplete if she didn’t go on the roller-coaster … So I accosted a sweet, grey-haired lady who was about to embark with her grandson and talked her into taking mine as well. I didn’t even demand a no molestation contract. In fact, I didn’t even verify that he was her grandson; for all I knew she could have stolen him for some sort of child sacrifice to the gods of the fair. But hey … at least I didn’t make my kid stay down on the ground, so I guess I somewhat rock.

    In any case, I’d be willing to be scared to watch you tormenting the blondes.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. So I need to go in for my annual haircut and I’d like to get something similar to the new Dr. Who, but I’m afraid it will look to much like Entitled-white-lady-who-wants-to-see-the-manager-about-everything. Thoughts? I mean, I guess I could always shave it all off if it comes out wrong, but that seems a bit drastic.

    Liked by 1 person

    • My advice for everything: get whatever haircut you want. Ask to see the manager if you want. Don’t be an asshole. Wash your hands and cover your mouth when you cough (we’ve lost sooo many actors to the stupid flu the last couple of weeks… wash your filthy fucking hands, people!)


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