UnBEARable Excitement

The other day I was hanging out in my old apartment when Kevin pulled out his AWESOME bear suit. He made it for a circus-themed party our friends threw, and kept it due to its extreme amazing-ness. He brought it out on the way to Margarita Monday, and a photo shoot ensued: him mauling me, me mauling him, the whole works. The next day I was still so enthralled with the possibilities of the bear suit that Kevin offered to let me keep it, making this the best Christmas present on record, ever.

I wore the bear suit pretty consistently for the first four days. I wore it to my sister's house and my grandmother's, and even brought it to the DMV before thinking better of the whole plan. (I am pretty sure it's not illegal to wear a bear suit into a government facility, but I'm fairly certain it's frowned upon and in this post-9/11 world, who wants to find out?)

The halcyon days of my bear suit were surprisingly short-lived and uneventful. Uneventful with the notable exception of my high-speed bear chase.

My sister and I were driving to the bank (and, please note, I was exceeding the speed-limit by ten miles) when a guy came up behind my and passed me on the left, almost causing a head-on collision with someone in the other lane. His only response to this was to look in his rear-view mirror and give me the finger. Like any native Californian with a valid driver's license, my sister encouraged me to follow him down the road to 'scare the shit out of him.' (Couple of real ladiez, aren't we?) I hinted that this guy might not be scared by a couple of white girls in a civic, so my sister gamely suggested that I put on the bear suit. Which I did because, well, I don't like to give up chances to wear the bear suit.

I had to chase the guy for a couple miles before I was able to pull up along side him and TERRIFY him with my awesome bear-ness. I growled a lot and mimed the international sign for "impending bear mauling", which looks like a mix between a baseball throw and the weird hand position one holds when their manicure isn't quite dry. The offender looked up, realized what had befallen him and...

...laughed.

That's right, he laughed. AT A BEAR. He gave me a thumbs-up too, as if I wasn't there expressly to scare him to death. And that is exactly what's wrong with city people. You Do Not mess with bears. It's like the number one rule of the forest. Jeez, no wonder the accidental death rate in California is so high.*


*I made this fact up.