You Can Dress Us Up...

Alright.
Let's get to it, readerbase.
Stretch out the ol' legs and arms.
Everybody limber?
Neither am I.
Alright, the following thing happened:
But first! If you are going to see me within the next few days, don't read this post. The story works better in-person. This warning is especially reserved for Pete, Bussey, and Shandera.
I'll get Colin to tell you guys about it.
Everyone else outside of the St. Jiahn's perimeter, or those who cannot wait, here's the story:
Colin and I are in da mall with his new one, Charlotte (she gets a name now. She's coming along nicely, though she puts in a paltry effort when fighting for shotgun).
She's in Le Chateau, buying gear for the rapidly approaching Paddy's Day, which is the equivelant of a national holiday for Colin.
After the fact, herself said, "I've never seen two people more out of place in a store in my life."
Colin and I grow weary of EB, and so we head on over to see if Charlotte's ready to get mobile.
It's like a camoflauge, this store, all whites and pinks, and soft pastels. Beyond the entrance display racks, it's sort of hard to pick out anything.
So, he and I go inside, and immediately fuck and joke around, making a general spectacle.
Charlotte's standing in line, red-faced and giggly.
He and I subside mildly, and begin to let our eyes adjust to the interior.
Then Colin says, "I tell ya what, have a gark at buddy."
For those of you unfamiliar with the dialect, this simply means, "Get a load of that guy."
So, I look in the direction that he's gesturing.
"You should've given me a warning!" I yelled afterwards.
First of all, he's pushing forty for sure.
He's wearing a billowy pirate-type black shirt.
He has a very exaggerated and well-groomed soul patch in the form of a perfect isosoles triangle.
His hair is also pirate-like, long and teased-almost flowing.
And when I happen to look at this guy, he's standing with his hands, triumphantly, I should add, placed on his hips.
I glance this, and without reserve or hesitation, and with no control over the reflex, mind you, I immediately make this noise:
"Pffft!"
And begin to cackle with laughter.
Colin and I immediately leave the store.
I'm laughing so hard that I have to sit down.
On a bench.
Outside of the store, but likely still within earshot.
Now, some may construe this anecdote as being mean.
"What an asshole that Paul/Screech is, guys."
To which I say: you had to be there.
Another Warford family moment in which I would have paid money for Brian to be there.
It's the sort of situation that he would have added to dramatically.