Went to a Hallmark warehouse “flea market” sale today where they promised us–promised!–mannequins for sale.  Right there on the flyer; right there in black ink on a pastel blue background they wrote, “Dude.  Mannequins.  Come get some.”

I’m not sure why they didn’t write that in verse.

Anyway, I grabbed my wife, she grabbed me back (turns out, not so much fun the other way around; we’re no longer doing the grabbing thing) and we headed off to Crown Center to score a coup on some Kim Cattralls.   By the time we work our way through the crowd, we find the mannequins failed to make an appearance.  They just never showed.  (Sure, there were a few dress form mannequins, but their lack of arms, heads and legs, that’s like ordering a sticky-sweet bear claw and getting a doughnut hole for your troubles.)

Where is the justice?  Where is the love?  Where is the lawyer for a possible lawsuit?

Alas, to fulfill my dreams of an army of mannequins dressed up in Halloween costumes (for Halloween, by the way, not costumed for, say, Mother’s day), I’ll be forced to troll Craig’s List again. (Which is always a little discouraging, what with the ads typically suggesting the use of a mannequin for sale being, “For Halloween, parties or whatever.”  It’s the last one that gets me; I’m forced to avoid all thoughts of what “whatever” might be.)

Clearly, I live my life abused and betrayed by authorities.