And maybe technically this he-
But this he/she/
Right by my front door.
Where hoards of wild Octamom children enter and exit the house. With dramatic slams of the door.
I think this little guy gets a bit shade-challenged.
And now he stands out like a citrine green sore thumb.
I think I may have mashed that metaphor a bit. Or a lot.
Just ignore that one.
But I feel for the little guy. Trapped on a cedar post, hoards of wild kids around him, trying to decide what shade will go best with his goals.
Kind of like when I stand frozen in front of the bathroom mirror, a box of Clairol in one hand and a carton of L'Oreal in the other.
Titan or Dark Warm Gold? Sassy Light Auburn or Gentle Ginger?
Frozen on a cedar post.
I feel ya, baby.