I should love this.
Should being the operative word.
This Patterson J. Kincaid tank is everything that I adore — a little quirky but not too out there and made of blissfully soft cotton.
And yet, I don't love it.
The feathers are a deal breaker.
It's on sale, I have a discount code, but those feathers totally creep me out. Birds creep me out. No, not because of the Alfred Hitchcock movie. Never seen it. But, when I was 5, I remember running after a flock of birds. One didn't fly up into the sky. He didn't look so good. I carefully scooped that sucker up into my hands and ran it over to the doctor who lived in the cul-de-sac.
He blew me off. So, I ran home to show my new pet to my mom.
"THAT'S A DEAD BIRD. Do you know how many germs that thing has? Go wash your hands!"
I dropped that poor dead little birdie like a hot potato and washed my hands till I thought the first layer of skin would fall off.
A few years later, I picked out a white finch at the pet store, but I was so vain I didn't wear my glasses. I am — and long have been — blind as a bat. I thought that little dude had brown spots. Um, no, the feathers were plucked clean off him in several spots. You could see its naked bird skin, and — if my memory isn't tricking me — its spine. Totally grossed me out
So, you can see why bird-related merchandise doesn't do much for me. And yet, this cute tank is killing me because it'd be such a great score for a fashionable, normal person. Normal being the operative word.
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