I'll admit to having done the big ugly cry a few times lately, particularly around the signing away of our old home on Friday.
Oh, but it gets better. If she was just a rubber chicken, I would have thrown her out.
But she's wearing a bikini. And... and...
SOMEONE DREW NIPPLES ON HER WITH A SHARPIE.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I turned her over and this happened:
That is totally something I would have done if I had a rubber chicken and a permanent marker and was the type of person who still giggles every time she hears the word pianist (I do. Every time. Try it sometime.)
Except I didn't do it. That's the best part. Someone else who was in this house has the same sick sense of humour I do.
Oh, right. The as of yet nameless rubber mascot of my life has a point. It's important that we not judge this poor chick. Who knows what her story is? Not everybody gets the same opportunities in life, you know. Maybe she never made it through poultriversity. Maybe the roosters she roosted with were dicks. Maybe she just loves wearing a bikini because it shows off her ink and, uh, nipples. That's what feminism is all about, people. We need to support our sisters. Empower them. Lift them up. Take pictures of them standing next to solar lamps on the deck.
And that afternoon I was feeling rather melancholy. Not in a "I regret moving" kind of way, but more in a "I hope I'll feel as at home here as I did in our old place" kind of way.
Then I went outside to mope and do some yard work.
And then, I suppose, the Universe decided I needed a sign. A big, flashing neon sign that screams THIS IS DEFINITELY YOUR HOME, MAVEN. NOW STOP BEING A DRAMA QUEEN AND GET OVER YOURSELF.
Or something.
And that's when I spotted this in the grass:
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| Dear Maven, Your prayers have been answered. You're welcome. - Universe |
I don't know who she is or where she came from, but she's clearly had... life experiences. For one, she's missing a limb.
 |
| Possible reasons: Shark attack while surfing Cujo Pole dancing/stiletto mishap Machete-wielding clown |
Oh, but it gets better. If she was just a rubber chicken, I would have thrown her out.
But she's wearing a bikini. And... and...
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| It took everything I had not to Photoshop some tassels on there. See? I can be mature sometimes.* (*while posting cleavage shots of dismembered rubber chickens.) |
And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, I turned her over and this happened:
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| TRAMP STAMP! Things this ink could possibly be: Flames Deformed crab A drunk phoenix Sinking of the Titanic |
That is totally something I would have done if I had a rubber chicken and a permanent marker and was the type of person who still giggles every time she hears the word pianist (I do. Every time. Try it sometime.)
Except I didn't do it. That's the best part. Someone else who was in this house has the same sick sense of humour I do.
Oh, right. The as of yet nameless rubber mascot of my life has a point. It's important that we not judge this poor chick. Who knows what her story is? Not everybody gets the same opportunities in life, you know. Maybe she never made it through poultriversity. Maybe the roosters she roosted with were dicks. Maybe she just loves wearing a bikini because it shows off her ink and, uh, nipples. That's what feminism is all about, people. We need to support our sisters. Empower them. Lift them up. Take pictures of them standing next to solar lamps on the deck.
All I know for sure is that she was my sign that I need to be here, in this house. This treasure was undoubtedly meant for me, and I'm certain the two of us will spend lots of time together.
Outside.
Several feet away.
Because I'm pretty sure my new BFF is filled with toxic spores and shit.