Neal and His Monkey

We have here, in our congested little college town, a pottery making/painting/glass fusing store. The Mad Potter is, for my gang of girls, the newest obsession. We used to make fondue and watch John Hughes films (which is not the same person as John Waters, come to find out on a recent trip to Baltimore. As I eagerly stalked filming locations for John Hughes films, expecting to find a high school that bore an uncanny resemblance to Shermer H.S. or Andie Walsh's house, instead I found random buildings and unfamiliar streets. So. Not. John Hughes.) But we 30-something lassies have moved on to activities with less calories and more focus. So, now we paint pottery. We tried it first for my birthday in September and now, I dare say, we're all hooked...even Neal, who sometimes assumes the title of Honorary Chick (not to be confused with someone who will scrapbook with me, because that is where he draws a heavy, black line). Last week, Neal and I and another couple ventured out into the bitter wind and threatening snow to paint more pottery...because well, it's Christmas and sometimes you just have to take a break from the bead tray. I made something fun, but can't tell you what it is until December 30th because it's someone's Christmas present and Neal made this:



If you guess that it's a monkey, you'd be right. You'd also be correct in saying that it has a cat in its belly, cardinal's blood (as in the bird, not the senior ecclesiastical official of the Catholic Church) on his paws, and he's smoking a cigar. If you were really observant, you would notice that he's been given a Gremlin streak, supposedly to make him look more distinguished...as if the cigar didn't accomplish that already. I was so consumed with my own magnum opus that I did not even realize what my husband was creating until....well...until the very end, after the cat and the blood and the cigar. I had no idea that a bowl could be so complex...with layers of meaning and mystery and just a tiny hint of Neal's crazy. I looked at the final product and felt, for lack of a better work, completely creeped-out. I did not want to imagine this bowl in my car or on my bar...not with fruit or Christmas loot...not a place for keys or serving peas...this was not coming home. But good news...Neal had other plans:


TS Rules...for those of you who don't develop software for a living, that translates to Technology Services. This menacing carnivore of a dish is headed straight to work. Neal calls it a conversation piece...I call it a reason to keep your children out of Neal's office. I'm sure it's one of those things that grows on you...like bourbon and water or Christmas carols...or a festering sore. But for me, it's the very epitome of the male mind. It's my version of the wagon wheel coffeetable. And when Neal retires, it's going STRAIGHT to Goodwill.