I got to help cover for a friend while he spent a week in Mexico attending a wedding.
A week filled with wedding stuff is equal to at least a year in real time, so I figure I got the better end of the deal.
Even that improved drastically when Manny returned to work yesterday, as he came bearing gifts. Now, I'd never known exactly how much I needed a luchador mask, but in owning one I can attest to the former void in my life and wardrobe:
As you can see, I was born to play "El Santo".
Never had I so keenly felt the need to own a cape . . . But one step at a time, I suppose. Too much awesome can be fatal if it is applied too quickly.
I spent the rest of the morning at work strutting around a flexing, like a normal day but this time wearing the mask.
As an odd coincidence, I seem to have been selected for a "random" drug test this morning.
However, there was no time for urine tests yesterday afternoon. No way. Not with the mask of "El Santo" firmly in my possession.
I considered fighting crime, of course.
Then I considered the more lucrative angle of committing it, but quickly decided against that.
As I've said many times, I'm too pretty for prison.
The mere presence of "El Santo" freaked out one of the cats so much that she wouldn't go near me almost an hour after I'd put the mask away. She must fear the justice.
What possible function could my luchador mask serve?
Apparently, the very best use is in frightening my (soon to be eight-year-old) daughter as she walks through a door:
The image after this one involves a swift upward kick on her part, followed by a series of "El Santo" writhing on the floor in pain, trying to not vomit into the mask.
I'm leaving those pictures out of the post though. "El Santo" cares about bandwidth.
