Glitterati

My Chevy Corsica broke down in the middle of a busy intersection and, whilst I steered, my brother, Jym, had to push it through said intersection into a conveniently located auto repair shop before the light turned green.

Once the car was safely parked in the parking lot, we went into the auto repair shop to inform the mechanics of our suspected diagnosis. We had grown up on a farm in eastern Montana and so we had no choice but to have a preternatural understanding of automotive distress. I can usually figure out what is wrong with a vehicle, but, unfortunately, have absolutely no skills in automotive repair. Jym gave the mechanic a quick rundown of the facts- what the car did, sounded like, smelled like, and looked like before it took a shit in the middle of the intersection. He spoke clearly, concisely, and stayed in character as a very masculine and heterosexual adult male.

As we were about to leave the auto repair shop, without turning to face me or whispering, Jym said, in a very resigned way, "I'm still wearing glitter eye shadow, aren't I?" He'd put it on while we were farting around in my apartment and he forgot to wash it off before we left.

"You are."

"Goddamn it! I forgot my cigarettes in the car." He sprinted back into the shop, ducked into the car repair area and popped his head into the dead Corsica. And then, sounding like he had gone to Ethel Merman and Snagglepuss for speech therapy, he shouted "FOUND MY CAPRIS!!" and brandished the long slender pack of old lady cigarettes in the air with a jazzy flourish. He skipped out to meet me and... exit... stage left.