The Fever

Sometimes, after I buy a brand-spanking-new can of spray paint, I walk around my house looking for things to paint. Other times, I don't have a choice. Like this here gosh-darn story:

Long ago, when I lived in Iowa, I bought this little bird at Hobby Lobby. How I miss Hobby Lobby!
Anyway, the bird was 50% off and it was cute. It wasn't the best color, but I still had a special little place in my heart for it.

James calls it The Squirrel Bird. The nerve!

But he's right. *sigh* Look at that tail!

Well, recently it's been calling to me. Like the slot machine that calls to Franklin in the Twilight Zone.
"Fraaaaanklin!"
"Fraaaaanklin!"
"Fraaaaanklin!"

Do you remember? If you don't, or just need a frightening refresher, here you go:

Except my little squirrel bird isn't quite so disturbing. And she didn't make me want to fall-jump out of a window made of the thinnest glass ever.

She has a sweet little voice that's been chirping:
"Paint me!"
"Paint me!"
"Paint me!"

And since I'm not one to take Twilight Zone signs lightly, I paid attention. Because THERE ARE LESSONS TO BE LEARNED from the Twilight Zone.

And so I painted.



Oh, Squirrel Bird, you are adorable! I was thinking about distressing her a little, but remember, I'm a wimp, and also, I kind of like the boldness of all that blue.



I like the way the etchings seem to be a little sweeter after they were painted all one color:



I perched her atop the cabinets in my kitchen.

So that she could be the boss of my cookbooks. Doesn't she look so regal and bossy?

Go on with your bad blue self!