Collectible teapots. They’re presumably a thing. When I went to the big retail gift marts I’d see them by the shelf. They’d look like flowers. Like sexy celebrities. Like food. Just so many. But they never really looked like something you’d want to pour tea out of.
Take Mrs. Chipmunk here. If that happened to my pup–the Internet says that’s what you call them, and I believe the Internet–I would seriously consider taking that little guy to the hospital. If it wasn’t, you know, too expensive. Because rodents have big families and maybe they could spare a few.
“Mother, why do you only look at the left side of my head? Do I make you sad?”
“Shush, child. Please don’t talk. When you open your mouth the wind rushes through you and it puts me off my acorns.”
I wish I had an action shot of, say, pouring half-and-half out of this thing into my coffee. I would totally top my italian roast with whatever the hell you get out of a baby chipmunk’s skull. Mom’s even going to help me. Thanks, mom. BTW, you don’t get a card on mother’s day, just saying.
Savers on Burnet and North Loop, Austin