Max-Or-Treat

You never know with Max.  Statement of the century, I know.  When Daddy and I took her to Walmart to get some new clothes and a toy we should have known it was not going to be an ordinary trip.

After picking up some motor oil, we headed to the toy section.  We passed pretty princess dress up clothes.  No.  We passed a lovely toy pony.  A big ‘maybe’ on the horsey.  Toy Story green alien?  Hmmmm.

And then, there it was.  The Ironman aisle.  Mecca.  She saw it: The Holy Grail.  The Ironman mask.  Instantly, she had it on her face and started breathing like Darth Vader.  Sold.

Daddy showed her the Ironman that talked.  Pretty cool.  Light up chest, blasters, catch phrases.  Almost as good as the plastic mask with eye holes.  Almost.

“Now I want the body parts,” she announces.  Daddy looked and there was one lame version of the suit make entirely out of some stretchy and probably really itchy material.

“Halloween aisle?” I suggest helpfully.  Daddy shrugs and nods.

So, we go over and see what we can find.  Ironman is big this year.  The costumes are picked over and our choice is limited to a boys’ 10-12 Husky costume.  Bummer.  It would have been cool since this one was quilt stitched to look like muscles.  Oh well, moving on.  There’s always Target.

As we turned the corner with Max still disappointed about the body part suit, she had another religious experience.  Hanging there was a plastic Halloween skeleton.  It was almost as big as Max.

Skeleton!” she shrieked.  “Can I have that, Daddy?”

And off we went to the kids clothes department with Max wearing her Ironman mask, her skeleton now named Steve seated next to her in the cart, and her pink balloon on her wrist from her ‘best friend’ waitress at Shoney’s bobbing happily along above her.

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