This summer while on one of our shopping tears (in DIY Doris’ blue bullet, no less) we were at one of our favourite antique shops. This shop also has a lot of “junktiques” and just a lot of stuff in general. The lovely, older gentleman that owns it is very good to us and in turn, we are good to him… usually by purchasing large pieces of furniture. At any rate, we love him.
This particular day we were blowing through the joint like antique rockstars announcing we will take “that… That.. OOOOOHH, definitely THAT”, when I came across a piece of 70’s art glass in the shape of a bird. I squealed “I LOVE IT” and in response the owner told me I could have it for free. Score! So for the rest of our drive-by-shopping escapade I cradled my newly acquired accessory in my arm all the while musing to C and Doris “Where will I put my new phoenix… how do you suppose we can pack the phoenix in the van… I feel just like Harry Potter when he found the phoenix”, and on it went… and possibly on and on. Anyway, to me this was quite obviously a phoenix.
When we were done shopping C got chit chatting with the owner. Toward the end of the conversation the owner jumped in with “Did the other fella get his chicken?”. A CHICKEN!. Not a phoenix, a chicken. This, ladies and gentleman, is a lesson in beauty and proves the old adage “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” because it quite obviously is, or at least interpretation is. To a thirty-something gay man it was quite obviously a phoenix while to a sixty-something, quintessential Island man with an antique/junktique shop, it was a chicken. A chicken.
The phicken is now proudly displayed in our newly arranged spare room.
Well? What is it?