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A story about a chicken

Posted by on June 24, 2011

Every now and then I am moved to buy my parents something so hideous that their only possible reaction on opening the gift will be laughter. Or tears. Or therapy. But usually laughter, because we are pretty well-adjusted.

My crown jewel of this trend was a glass paperweight I got my mom for her birthday one year. It’s pretty large for a paperweight, like much bigger than a fist or even two fists. It’s actually exactly big enough to be completely unwieldy and irritating no matter where you set it. And it is shaped like a rooster. The world’s most hideous multicolored blown glass rooster. I’m sorry I don’t have a picture of it, but it hurts the camera.

My mom laughed when she opened it, and then proudly displayed it in the kitchen for a while, where I would sometimes catch her giving it uncomfortable glances as though it was making her a little nauseous or was maybe talking to her on a frequency only she could hear, and then after a while I started having to pull it out of an obscure cupboard every time I house-sat and put it back on the counter where I know she had meant it to be, until eventually I couldn’t even find it in the cupboard. I am not too sure where she’s found to display it now. Maybe a cabinet in the garage.

Anyway, I really like giving hideous gifts is the point, and so imagine my delight on finding that I only have to wait 14 years until the Big Metal Chicken anniversary. Also, I have a new favorite blogger, I am pretty sure.

The end.

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