This is technically true. I didn’t design them.
I did, however, specifically order this costume for Leo to wear today.
Leo’s eyes narrow. “What are you wearing?”
I pull out my own costume. A simple safari vest and pith helmet combo. Khaki shorts. A magnifying glass on a string.
“I’m the paleontologist,” I explain. “I’m the brains of the operation. You’re the comic relief.”
“Of course I am.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure to get lots of photos for posterity.”
He meets my gaze. “If any photos end up online, I will personally ensure your next party booking is for a group of feral toddlers hopped up on Kool-Aid.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from laughing.
“Bold of you to assume that’s not already my target demographic. Besides, even if photos do end up online, do you think anyone will recognize you? The costume is basically witness protection.”
Leo makes a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a growl. Then he turns toward the small changing area in the corner of the room.
He disappears behind the curtain with the inflatable dinosaur suit, and I allow myself a small, private smile as I start to change into my own costume.
By the time I’ve wrestled myself into the safari vest, I can hear the whir of the inflation mechanism from behind Leo’s curtain.
“How’s it going in there?” I call.
“I can’t find the armholes.”
“They’re inside the body. You have to reach through.”
A pause. More rustling. Then his voice comes out. “These arms are twelve inches long.”
“Tyrannosaurus rex had proportionally small forelimbs relative to their body size. It’s scientifically accurate.”
“I can’t scratch my own nose.”
“Also scientifically accurate. Scientists believe this may have contributed to their extinction.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t know that. You’re not a paleontologist.”
The curtain yanks back.
And there he is. Leo Brennan, in all his inflatable green glory.
The suit balloons out around him, giving him an enormous, rounded body that wobbles when he moves. His actual arms are stuffed inside the costume, operating the tiny T. rex arms that stick out pathetically from his chest. His face is visible through a mesh window in the dinosaur’s open mouth, and his expression hovers somewhere between resignation and homicide.
He looks absolutely ridiculous.
My lips press together so tightly they might fuse. I deserve an award for not laughing. A trophy. A national honor.
“Well?” Leo demands.
“You look…” I have to pause and breathe. “You look very fearsome.”
“I look like I lost a fight with a bouncy castle.”
