The Demise of a Clown *sniffle*

My Hunny came home! And I left. In the interim, we had a bit of fun.

See, I know why my Hunny is afraid of clowns. It has something to do with seeing Poltergeist as a kid (I did too, but no clown damage there), and equal parts growing up with a mother who dresses amazingly like a clown. There are days I think I see her on the street or in a store and have to shake myself and remember that she's 1,500 miles away.

I know these things about him. Yet I torture him. It's wonderful, married life. I highly recommend it.

So I tucked the latest clown away on my Hunny's work bench, with his leather craft stuff. He loves to work there and relax after a stressful day. I get that. I do. See where this little fella made himself at home?

He's adorable. Who wouldn't love this little clown?

My Hunny. That's who. He went to work on something, and the next thing I know I'm hearing a loud banging and the crushing of ceramic. Hunny has a nice mallet for pounding leather. And clowns, evidently. He had such a satisfied grin when he brought me a box a few minutes later. Take a look:

Sad, huh?

Such wanton destruction.

I love this so. Am actively seeking clowns. If you have one you'd like to donate, please let me know and I'll give you my mailing address. Heh.

Until I write again ...

Flea