Nothing tests this quite like a unicorn onesie.
When we arrive home from the fracture clinic, Leo stares at the unicorn onesie I’ve laid out on the couch like it’s a venomous snake that’s been bedazzled within an inch of its life.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says.
I struggle to keep a straight face. “I thought long and hard about my Captain Giggles persona and tried to work out what sidekick would be an authentic extension of that identity.”
Actually, I thought long and hard about what kind of costume would cause Leo optimal mortification and settled on this.
It’s powder pink with a rainbow mane running down the spine, a spiraling gold horn that lights up if you press a button on the hood, and—my personal favorite touch—a fluffy tail attached to the backside with a pompom on the end that swishes when you walk.
There’s also a rainbow shooting across the chest withBELIEVE IN MAGICspelled out in sequins, which I may have added myself. Thankfully, Costumes-R-Us offers same-day delivery.
Leo handled the dog walking yesterday with more good humor than I expected. Unfortunately, I wasn’t there to witness Mr. Tech Guru, Mr. Six Figure Consultant, yawning at a bunch of misbehaving dogs. And he refused to do a re-enactment when I asked.
And okay, okay, I’m a bad person because imagining the scenario brought me way too much joy.
Last night, Leo had to go to some client meetings, which left me with some time to plot how to incorporate a broken ankle’s worth of embarrassment into my children’s entertainment routine.
Luckily, I managed to come up with a few ideas.
“So, this party is being held at Horniman Museum,” I say as Leo and I get into the Uber. “Have you been there before?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’ve never heard of it.”
“Oh, you’re in for a treat. It’s one of my favorite places in London.”
His eyebrows shoot up, maybe because he can’t quite understand how someone can be so enthusiastic about a museum. But I really do love it.
“Frederick Horniman made all his money selling tea during Victorian times, and then spent his fortune collecting things from around the world,” I explain.
“The classic billionaire arc,” Leo says dryly. “Before they all pivoted to space rockets.”
I smother a smile. Leo ambushes me with these nuggets of humor when I least suspect it. They’re delivered so deadpan that I’m never entirely sure if he knows he’s being funny.
“Except, compared to most rich guys, Frederick Horniman was genuinely interested in education. He opened his private collection to the public in 1890 because he thought everyone deserved access to knowledge, not just the wealthy.” I shift in my seat to face him properly, which is never easy with a broken ankle and limited legroom. “The museum’s got one of the biggest musical instrument collections in the UK with over nine thousand objects, from thirty-five-hundred-year-old Egyptian bone clappers to electric guitars.”
Leo raises an eyebrow. “What are clappers?”
“Instruments carved to look like human hands. They’re beautifully creepy.”
“Beautifully creepy? That’s an interesting description.”
“You’ll understand what I mean when you see them. But yeah, beautifully creepy is probably a description you should avoid using on your Grindr profile.”
Leo chuckles. Satisfaction swells inside me.
And I notice he doesn’t correct me on my assumption that he has a Grindr profile.
Not that it matters. I’m not here to find out whether the man with the distractingly broad shoulders plays for my team.
I push that out of my mind and continue educating Leo about the wonders of the Horniman.
“The star attraction is an overstuffed walrus.”
Leo’s brow furrows. “Overstuffed?”
“Victorian taxidermists had never seen a live walrus, so when they got the skin, they just…kept stuffing until all the wrinkles disappeared. It looks like a walrus that’s been inflated with a bicycle pump.”
