Giant Metal Roosters and Happiness
From the first time I laid eyes on him, I knew I wanted him. He was tall. He was bright. He was so incredibly handsome. And after my last relationship I definitely could entertain the notion of keeping company with someone who was more of the “strong, silent type” rather than the “rage for no good reason” type. So, I said, with confidence. “I choose you. You’re good. You seem kind. And you’re only three hundred dollars.”
“So – do you need help loading him?”
I glanced to my right where a redhead stood looking politely confused.
“Yes,” I said and patted the beak of my soon-to-be-purchased love. “Can we cram him into the back of my Rav?”
She looked doubtfully at my hatch undoubtedly wondering if this was going to be a smooth transaction or an awkward jostling of chicken-in-cubby action like a Thanksgiving Turducken.
Twenty minutes and three hundred dollars later I was cruising down Route 60 with Clucky Brewster wedged up against my back. He was made of slim, sculpted metal painted with bright colors on his body and plumage and was to be a beacon of my Devil May Care air that now embodied my mind and spirit since I was as Single as they came and now, apparently, the Mother of Roosters.
Arriving home I quickly realized the errors of my ways when I knew I had to somehow remove this giant rooster from my car. And also not accidentally shear off a limb I’d grown attached to. Like, ya know, my hand. It worked for Mr. Skywalker but I have no Force to aid me so instead, I just yanked super hard and prayed to Yoda that both Clucky and I would survive.
With one quick “shhhhnk!” he was free and now standing in front of my garage bay. I snapped a quick picture of him in all his massive majesty and uploaded it to Facebook. In the days and weeks that followed I enjoyed making up hashtags like “#MinesBigger” and “#NoHOAs” and “CluckCluckBOOM,” and every day I’m sure I alienated friends but MAN did I gain some followers. And most seemed to enjoy the fact that I was enjoying myself and my newfound love with every ounce of my battered soul.
A friend hand-fashioned long metal-spikes to make sure Clucky Brewster stayed put and every day when I left for work, I waved to him with a large smile on my face. And he looks on with a happy (I choose to believe he’s happier with me than on display with 20 of his metal flock brethren) grin upon his beak and one wing tucked close to his little metal brother, Dodo, a gift from my son for Mother’s Day. There’s not a moment that goes by where I regret plopping my shiny Visa down on the counter of that roadside stand to buy my Really Big Rooster. Was he an impulse buy? Maybe. Would that $300 be better spent elsewhere? Maybe. And did I really NEED him? Yes. Most definitely, yes.
So as the world trudges on through this year of Covid Variances, Mask Mandates, Vaccines and Boosters, Turkeys versus Hams, and Taylors versus Gyllenhaals, please take a moment for happiness for yourself. That doesn’t mean than everyone needs to add a yard army of metal menageries, but it does mean that you’re worth the splurge. You only get one life. One time to shine. And one time to make sure you’re remembered to those who love you/tolerate your social media presence. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll make someone else smile by posting about your purchase. Just don’t forget the all-too-important hashtag indicator of: “#CluckyMadeMeDoIt.”