woebegonewaif

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Eurylochus and Darling

(Based on shaped into a point and purpose by nambi)

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minecraft for the last few years has had maybe the most confused development direction of All Time

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Me: dang I hate how my voice cracks on the chorus of Pink Pony Club but the rest of the song is so good.

Six-year-old at karaoke: I only know the chorus. Because I’m six.

Me: this was destined to be.

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Actually cannot stop watching this

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I went to the small pizzeria in a nearby village last month and asked for a calzone, and when she brought it to me the owner had a look on her face I can only describe as bitter.

Naturally my first assumption was that she was judging me for my food order (maybe calzones are too easy compared to other pizzas and she felt under-challenged as a pizza chef?), but then I looked at my calzone and the more I looked at it, the more I felt like it might have been a failed attempt at a cat calzone.

(I didn't ask for a cat calzone, just a calzone.)

If I had immediately identified it as a cat calzone I would have of course said something about it, such as "Aww that's so cute! You made it in the shape of a cat!! Thank you!" — but it was too late. I hesitated too long, and it was just failed enough that I wasn't sure it was meant to be a cat.

I think this poor woman knew her cat calzone was a failure and I wouldn't be able to recognise her effort for what it was, hence the bitterness in her eyes when she brought it to me.

I asked my friend if my pizza looked like a cat to her, and she said "Are you saying this because of the olives? I think they were just placed randomly."

no, I think they were meant to be eyes, and a cat nose. And those are the ears. Wait, I'll turn it in your direction so you can see

Friend: "It's just a pointy calzone... Maybe you should ask the chef if she meant to make it a cat?"

If I tried to make a cat calzone and the recipient of this gift went like 'hey, sorry, is this weird-looking thing meant to be cat?' I would sell my pizza restaurant and drown myself in the river.

After considering this, my friend said we could brainstorm a better phrasing—but then we ended up agreeing that since the chef didn't go 'haha sorry I tried to make a cat and failed!!' when she brought my pizza, the options were a) she didn't try to make a cat; b) she feels humiliated by her failure, and either way it's better to say nothing.

But I felt deeply curious about this unresolved mystery, so this week when I went back to the pizzeria I asked for a calzone again.

The options were now: a) the chef brings me a better, recognisable cat calzone and I immediately remark upon it and she's happy and we erase the failed cat calzone from the historical record and never mention it ever;

or b) the chef brings me a normal calzone, which suggests that the vague cat shape from last time was accidental and just another instance of chronic cat pareidolia.

(I refused to consider option c) The chef brings me another failed, hardly-recognisable cat. She just doesn't seem like the kind of person who would let that happen to her twice.)

Here's the photo of the failed cat calzone from last time, which, according to my friend, just looks like a pointy calzone with randomly-placed olives and not a deliberate attempt to make a cat:

And here's what the chef brought me this time:

THAT'S A CAT.

I knew it!!!!

And it looks so sad!! This cat calzone looks like it will burst into olive oil tears if you once again fail to identify it as the cat that it is

But I didn't; I was so ready this time. I went "A cat!!!!! It's so cute!" and the chef went like yes!!! I tried to make one last time but it looked weird :(

I said I was pretty sure it was a cat last time and apologised for not bringing it up and she said no, it's my responsibility to make it a decent cat. She also said she was glad I'd come back and ordered another calzone because she was really bothered ("vraiment embêtée") by that first failed attempt, and wondering if I'd noticed an attempt was made (and failed)

That's so relatable. It's like when you make a really embarrassing spelling mistake in a text and you're not sure if the other person has seen it and is judging you for it. Should you bring it up? Can it go unnoticed if you don't? It's the cat calzone equivalent of that. I'm so glad we were able to clear the air.

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“Are you the witch who turned eleven princes into swans?”

The old woman stared at the figure on the front step of her cottage and considered her options. It was the kind of question usually backed up by a mob with meaningful torches, and it was the kind of question she tried to avoid.

Coming from a single dusty, tired housewife, it should’ve held no terrors.

“You a cop?”

The housewife twisted the hem of her apron. “No,” she muttered. “I’m a swan.”

A raven croaked somewhere in the woods. Wind whispered in the autumn leaves.

Then: “I think I can guess,” the old woman said slowly. “Husband stole your swan skin and forced you to marry him?”

A nod.

“And you can’t turn back into a swan until you find your skin again.”

A nod.

“But I reckon he’s hidden it, or burned it, or keeps it locked up so you can’t touch it.”

A tiny, miserable nod.

“And then you hear that old Granny Rothbart who lives out in the woods is really a batty old witch whose father taught her how to turn princes into swans,” the old woman sighed. “And you think, ‘Hey, stuff the old skin, I can just turn into a swan again this way.’

“But even if that was true – which I haven’t said if it is or if it isn’t – I’d say that I can only do it to make people miserable. I’m an awful person. I can’t do it out of the goodness of my heart. I have no goodness. I can’t use magic to make you feel better. I only wish I could.”

Another pause. “If I was a witch,” she added.

The housewife chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she drew herself up and, for the first time, looked the old woman in the eyes.

“Can you do it to make my husband miserable?”

The old woman considered her options. Then she pulled the wand out from the umbrella stand by the door. It was long, and silver, and a tiny glass swan with open wings stood perched on the tip.

“I can work with that,” said the witch.

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masks and helmets that hides someone's face in such a way that they become the face themselves my beloved

these are all creatures to me

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poor old granny scorpion-shoes. no one ever saw her death coming

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An Incomplete List of the Animals my Grandpa brought home over the course of his 67-year marriage to Gandma:

Annabell, a solid white and completely deaf pit bull that used to let mom draw on her belly

The World’s Ugliest Tom Cat, who turned out to be the cuddiest teddy bear of an animal

Cocker spaniel named “Captain”

Stupid, the Cat

Litter of baby raccoons

Three more cats

A completely bald and extremely anxious canary that sang beautifully, but only at 4 AM

Baby Squirrel that grew up in the house and then refused to move out

A Genuine Thoroughbred Racehorse who was a spectacular athelete but had a habit of running races in the wrong direction.  Benny turned out to be a terrific trail horse instead.

Turtle

Snapping Turtle

A bucket full of 43 goldfish left over from the fair.  Mom counted once they were all in the bathtub in the backyard with the snapping turtle.

Another cocker spaniel named “Major”, who had the tremendous talent of eating green beans silently

Red-tailed hawk he found on the highway, and sucessfully nursed back to health and released.

Dummy, Son of Stupid

Strange, the dog that lived under the porch and only came into the house at night.

An “abandoned” baby deer.

Spooky, an alleged dog.  

Joey the parakeet whose tricks were  1. drinking tea out of a tiny cup 2. threatening to peck out people’s eyes 3. wearing hats

A Really Big Toad he found behind the factory, because the other auto workers were discussing using it for target practice.  Mr. Grumpity was guardian of the rosebed for several years and granny’s (his mother) favorite animal he ever brought home.

Gretchen, a St. Bernard that had to be shaved from her prior owner’s neglect, and spent a week hiding from sight with such success in the house that they thought she’d run away.

Arson, Burglary and Murder, three frankly adorable little kittens.  They did not change the names, much to the regret of the cop who lived three doors down.

Yet another Cocker Spaniel, named “Colonel”

Cardinal (bird)

Canada Goose (Demon)

Once in the nursing home, he had a “pet” 12-point whitetail buck that would come to his window to be fed corn and get headskritches, inexplicably named “Florence”

The marriage only ended because thier time on earth did. He never kept an animal Grandma wouldn’t allow and if anything she was worse about it. She was the one who brought home a tarantula.

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Avavav always has the most interesting concepts

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