The Gift of Fear

I'm Sorry, But This:




Scares The Crap Out Of Me.

Upon opening this gift, several thoughts would go through my mind:

• The North Pole syndicate has whacked Mrs. Claus and I may be next.
• I'm going to have to chase this thing down and kill it to get a cookie.
  
• Oh, great. Now Tim Burton will be expecting a gift from me.

Call me old-fashioned, but I like my inanimate objects to be non-ambulatory. I'm just not comfortable in a world where the piano sits on skis or the microwave looks poised to make a break for it the minute I turn my back.


Are we a restless people? Do we yearn for the thrill of the open road, escaping the everyday humdrum of it all to feel the wind ruffling our bangs as we race toward an endless, seductive horizon?

Perhaps.

All I'm saying is: Why transfer that wanderlust onto our tabletop accessories?


I mean, why turn a perfectly good cake stand into a flight risk when we could instead add arms to things and perhaps score the occasional shoulder rub?

Of course, I guess even a good idea can go horribly wrong:



Oh, great. Here come the nightmares again.