No, this is not a post about how much I love Chick-fil-A (although I do, very much). It all started with a July Fourth weekend trip to east Texas . . .
It was one of those “Don’t you want to upgrade your timeshare?” “No, I really don’t, thanks.” trips. (Pictures and restaurant review coming soon.) On the way home we decided to take the road less traveled, party to avoid traffic from Canton Trade Days and partly because I don’t enjoy driving on interstates. Along the way we stopped by the artsy little town of Edom, Texas, and stretched our legs by strolling into one of the galleries.
And there it was: a metal chicken sculpture, about two feet high, in the most glorious combination of warm golds and reds I have ever seen. I wanted it. Bad. I could design my whole kitchen around that chicken. But I’m about to head off on a vacation and I’m on a tight budget and do I really need a metal chicken?
I glanced at the price tag, assuming it would be outrageous and therefore not an option. No such luck; it was actually reasonable. I gave it one last longing look and ran out the door before I could succumb to this sudden, irrational craving for a metal chicken.
Besides, one chicken would be weird, wouldn’t it? I’d need two. Maybe a rooster. Maybe the chicken and a rooster and another chicken. Odd numbers work better in decorating. Wait, is this how hoarding begins?
WWDRD? (What Would Dave Ramsey Do?) He’d tell me to step away from the chicken, that’s what he’d do. And he’s probably right.
But Dave hasn’t seen this chicken.
Still obsessing . . .