Then My Hair’s Too Short

I took this picture weeks ago in the family store. People who’d drop dead driven five miles from the Menlo Park Mall go bananas for dust-magnet statues of woodland and farm animals they hope to never see in person. It’s exciting to watch customers stare in wonder at the glazed ceramic cows, knowing the farthest thing from their minds is burgers and brisket. I’m no vegetarian; the last thing I want is porcine paperweights reminding me of guilt-laden bacon I’m not eating.

Please. Don’t get me started on the absurdity of selling porcelain chickens to city dwellers who’d call the cops if they heard a rooster crow. At least the bunnies don’t look to me like waylaid entrees.

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