Andy rushed into the house, practically tripping over the welcome mat. “Honey, I’m home! And guess what? I got tickets! Front row seats to the demolition derby!”
His wife, Brenda, looked up from the kitchen table, where she was surrounded by an alarming number of makeup brushes and palettes. Her face was completely bare, save for a single, dramatic black eyebrow drawn halfway across her forehead. “Oh, Andy, that’s wonderful! But I’m in the middle of… something.”
Andy, oblivious as always, launched into a detailed description of the monster trucks and the potential for vehicular carnage. “Imagine, Brenda! Cars smashing! Metal crunching! It’ll be glorious!” He paused, finally noticing Brenda’s bizarre appearance. “Uh, what exactly are you doing?”
Brenda sighed dramatically. “I’m preparing, Andy. This is… well, this is my war paint!”
Andy squinted. “War paint? Brenda, it’s a demolition derby. Not… Armageddon. You’re not planning on getting in one of those cars, are you?”
Brenda chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Don’t be silly. But I heard Doris Miller is going to be there. With her new boyfriend. The one who said my potato salad wasn’t ‘cutting edge’ at the church picnic.” She picked up a bright red lipstick. “This is my strategy, Andy. Psychological warfare. I’m going to look so utterly fabulous, so completely intimidating, that Doris will spontaneously combust with jealousy.”
Andy stared at the half-drawn eyebrow, then back at the various shades of glittery eyeshadow spread across the table. “Brenda,” he said slowly, “you do realize she’s bringing her prize-winning miniature poodle, Fluffy, right? And Fluffy’s wearing a little sequined jumpsuit?”
Brenda froze, the lipstick hovering inches from her lips. Her eyes widened. “Oh dear,” she whispered. “I completely forgot about Fluffy. I need more glitter!” And then, under her breath, “Andy’s wife war paint means Fluffy stands no chance.”
