Made in Richmond

I hate birds. HATE. The beaks, the feet, the TALONS. They are horrible.

There used to be this pet store in the mall near where I grew up. They let the birds just hang out on perches in the middle of the store. And they would just sit there. Staring at me. And inexplicably flapping their wings out of nowhere, making me feel like 1) they all knew something I didn’t and I best get ready cause The Rapture is about to happen or 2) they were all in cahoots, plotting how they would swarm me and peck out my eyes.

Lovely image, no?

I use this story to illustrate the absurdity of my latest obsession. I have a burning need to purchase every home accessory festooned with an avian theme. Allow me to share some of them with you…

I have no idea where they would go in my house, and I’m certain Ross would never allow them to come through the front door, but their whimsy is appealing to me.

Guys, I don’t even like tea, but I need this in my life.

Whenever I see this I want to hug it and say, “Heh-wo dere, wittle ow-ul fayce.” Hey, I never claimed to be not crazy.