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Thursday, December 15, 2005 

Dude, I'm twitching. Hold me.

Everyone has been scarred for life by their parents in one form or another. What I am about to write will be quite painful for all involved, but since I am too cheap for a therapist, I need to get this out. I had flashbacks today....flashbacks of childhood. What you may ask, could be so horrific that it could send a grown woman into the fetal position 25 years later?

*whimper..........* Don't make me say it...........(whisper) A chicken leather coat.

What is chicken leather? Most of society knows it as Pleather, that not quite plastic, not quite leather substance that is NEVER found in nature. Or in any fashionista's closet. It's a horrific substance that squeaks when worn as it rubs up against itself. My family calls it "chicken leather", another substance not readily found in nature. My brother dubbed it thus, and it seemed fitting.

When I was a kid, my dad had a brown chicken leather blazer. I was a child of the 70s, and sadly, chicken leather coats were quite the rage. My dad was quite hip actually, with his sideburns and his brown chicken leather blazer. Still is, but now he wears LL Bean.

Where was I? Sorry.

My family used to go for Sunday drives to see the countryside. This was nowhere near as torturous as it sounds. These afternoons were quite pleasant. We would drive, talk, and make memories.

That is, until the arrival of the chicken leather. As the weather turned cooler, my brother and I secretly began to dread these trips, because it meant a whole Sunday afternoon would be spent with that coat. A coat that had a voice, albeit a squeaky, indescipherable one. My parents would be sitting the front asking us questions and we would be unable to hear them. Things would escalate until my dad would reach around and the coat would say, "Don't make him pull the car over." *shudder*

I was never happier when 80s fashion started. Sure, the colors were bright, the hair was huge, but it didn't TALK to you, fer chrissakes. My dad gave that chicken leather coat away, and we were thrilled to see it go. I immediately repressed those memories, and kept them long since forgotten.

That is, until today. Today it is raining and cold, and LMD insisted on wearing her new raincoat. It's the cutest little thing, bright yellow and shiny. I put it on her, anxious to see how cute she looked in it. We buttoned it up and.......squeak.

Good God, it is Child of Chicken Leather Long Since Forgotten. The whole way to school this morning I heard "*squeak* I'm back, bitch. Thought you *squeak, squelch* had gotten rid of me, huh? Hell, no. *eek* My daddy found a nice Mrs. Leather, they*squawk* settled down, and here I am, daughter of CL revisited, ready *SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEK* to avenge my father's demise."

Never have 3 miles seemed so long. By the time we got to school, my hands were twitching, I had a tic in my eye, and I was popping Paxil like tic-tacs. By the time we got back home I was close to having a seizure. The car had barely rolled to a stop when I leapt out, slammed the door behind me and gasped frantically for air. I ripped the damn thing off LMD and stashed in the back of my closet, where it sits, taunting me. I can hear it's evil squelching on the other side of the house, much like Poe's "Tell Tale Heart."

So, what do I do with it? If I give it away, it'll just come back tenfold. I'll have my own damn farm of chicken leather coats, mocking me, slowly driving me into the depths of insanity. Instead, I think I'll give it a loving, happy home.

My niece will love it for Christmas.

Dude, it's just a coat. *snort* Chicken leather, never heard that one before. You poor child. Come sit by me and I'll regale you with tales of perms past.

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