Last night, I was trying to explain to the architect how I’d bought a share in a unicorn.
Architect: Blank stare
Me: Well, not a real unicorn. Not anymore. It’s dead.
Architect: You bought a share of a dead unicorn? Is this like when you bought a share of a steer, named it Colin, and kept the steaks in the freezer?
Me: No. You don’t eat unicorns. And anyway, we didn’t get the unicorn after all. Someone else bought it first.
Me: So, now when I’m in Texas, stalking the Bloggess, I won’t get to have my picture taken with her unicorn. Although she has a Pegasus, and is planning on getting a horn attached to it. But don’t worry, because it’s already dead, too.
Architect: There’s a woman in Texas with a dead Pegasus?
Me: Yes, she collects unique taxidermied items.
Architect: That’s certainly unique.
Me: Her father was a taxidermist.
Architect: That completely explains it.
Me: BUT – back to the unicorn. Although I am not the kind of person who wants to start a collection of unique taxidermied animals, I’m considering making an exception for mythical creatures.
At this point, I think the architect just wandered away, so he didn’t get to hear about my plans for finding my OWN unicorn and adding at least one jackalope to my collection. I’m pretty sure it would be awesome.
Also awesome: the fact that I own a share of a non-existent (but only because someone else bought it first! not because it isn’t real) unicorn.
The architect and I don’t always agree on the definition of the word awesome.