My Preciousssss...
/OR ALTERNATELY TITLED: MY HUSBAND IS SO GOING TO KILL ME
It's not every day that I receive a head in a cardboard box in the mail. Because it's not every day that a jewellery maker reads my blog and decides, "Hey! That Tanis chick totally could rock a dead bird necklace!"
But it happened.
And I named him Herbert.
Herbie.
The Herbster.
That's right. My name is Tanis and I like to freak out small children with my jewellery everywhere I go. See also another reason why my husband may also choose to work out of town.
Anyways....
The other day I received a text message telling me there was a special box waiting for me in the nearest small town. I wasn't quite sure what was in the box but since the last time I opened up a box Herbert came into my life so I knew I would soon be sporting the latest in road kill creation.
Just as long as I didn't mind picking up my parcel at the local police station.
Because there is absolutely nothing weird about going to pick up a box of jewellery made from the parts of dead animals at a police station. I hear the RCMP totally dig that sort of stuff.
"I'm so going to get arrested," I texted back.
"Only if there are dog sniffers on duty!" she cheerfully replied.
Hahaha.
You gotta love a girl who will willingly touch dead wild life to craft pretties for me and then joke about getting frisked in the clink. That's the very definition of a good girlfriend.
Sadly enough, as naughty as it felt, picking up a box of dead things from inside a cop shop went surprisingly well. My visions of being snarled at by dog sniffers and feeling the cold bite of metal bracelets around my wrists as I wailed "But they match my gopher earrings!!!" and then tossed into the clink never came true.
It was utterly routine.
Just as picking up a box of dead animal jewellery should be. Clearly my imagination is much more interesting than my reality.
Thank goodness for furried and feathered adornments to spice up my existence.
My lovely friend really went all out this time, covering stem to stern and everything in between. I can't decide which piece I love most. The brooch I plan on wearing for Mother's day festivities:
I'm betting once he sees Mrs. Fuzzlenuts (as it shall hence forth be referred to) he's really going to wish he had just ponied up and bought me that pot I wanted for Christmas after all.
So Vicki, thank you once again, for helping me help my husband see my wisdom and making me look fine while doing it.
Wink.
P.S. Vicki makes lovely non-dead-animal related jewellery as well for those of you who are interested. She is multitalented. (No, she didn't pay me to say that. I just like to point out Canadian awesomeness whenever I can. Plus, you know. She's mycrack carcass dealer so...)
It's not every day that I receive a head in a cardboard box in the mail. Because it's not every day that a jewellery maker reads my blog and decides, "Hey! That Tanis chick totally could rock a dead bird necklace!"
But it happened.
And I named him Herbert.
Herbie.
The Herbster.
That's right. My name is Tanis and I like to freak out small children with my jewellery everywhere I go. See also another reason why my husband may also choose to work out of town.
Anyways....
The other day I received a text message telling me there was a special box waiting for me in the nearest small town. I wasn't quite sure what was in the box but since the last time I opened up a box Herbert came into my life so I knew I would soon be sporting the latest in road kill creation.
Just as long as I didn't mind picking up my parcel at the local police station.
Because there is absolutely nothing weird about going to pick up a box of jewellery made from the parts of dead animals at a police station. I hear the RCMP totally dig that sort of stuff.
"I'm so going to get arrested," I texted back.
"Only if there are dog sniffers on duty!" she cheerfully replied.
Hahaha.
You gotta love a girl who will willingly touch dead wild life to craft pretties for me and then joke about getting frisked in the clink. That's the very definition of a good girlfriend.
Sadly enough, as naughty as it felt, picking up a box of dead things from inside a cop shop went surprisingly well. My visions of being snarled at by dog sniffers and feeling the cold bite of metal bracelets around my wrists as I wailed "But they match my gopher earrings!!!" and then tossed into the clink never came true.
It was utterly routine.
Just as picking up a box of dead animal jewellery should be. Clearly my imagination is much more interesting than my reality.
Thank goodness for furried and feathered adornments to spice up my existence.
My lovely friend really went all out this time, covering stem to stern and everything in between. I can't decide which piece I love most. The brooch I plan on wearing for Mother's day festivities:
What's a tail or two between friends?
Or the sister to my sweet sweet Herbert? Because everyone needs a blue and green dead bird to match the purple one you've already been rocking. I think I'll call her Joan.
My precioussssss....
However, the piece de resistance had to be the face. This is what happens to the Easter Bunny once the holiday is over. I'm so hanging this in my living room. Right next to wear my husband always sits. Because I know he'll appreciate the value of quality road kill decor.
I can't stop stroking my bunny.
I'm betting once he sees Mrs. Fuzzlenuts (as it shall hence forth be referred to) he's really going to wish he had just ponied up and bought me that pot I wanted for Christmas after all.
So Vicki, thank you once again, for helping me help my husband see my wisdom and making me look fine while doing it.
Wink.
P.S. Vicki makes lovely non-dead-animal related jewellery as well for those of you who are interested. She is multitalented. (No, she didn't pay me to say that. I just like to point out Canadian awesomeness whenever I can. Plus, you know. She's my
