Anyway, the love for the Penis Tortoise is so massive - so enormously girthy, in fact - that I'm considering trying to make a banner from it for the heading of this page. I can just picture the day my mother masters the internet and with some excitement finds the blog her daughter talks about. She'll click the hyperlink (by then she will know what it is and perhaps, oh giddy dreams, even know how to make one in a Word document), her eyes lingering hopefully over the loading bar, and then suddenly its all OH GOD WHAT IS THAT and WHY DOES MY ONLY CHILD HAVE A PICTURE OF A TORTOISE THAT LOOKS EXACTLY LIKE A PENIS ON HER WEBPAGE and so on and so forth. I dread the day that happens. I dread having to answer that something deep inside me simply finds immense hilarity in the Penis Tortoise. It is something in my soul that I cannot explain through the use of mere language, nor even of interpretive dance. (I actually shudder to think what a Penis Tortoise interpretive dance would even look like, and do not encourage you to close your eyes and imagine it as I have just done.)
I suspect this day may come sooner than I think. She does have access to neighbours who are much more modern and very helpful. Let us not dwell on this, however. I promise a full and in depth post if such an occasion ever occurs.
Since we are already on the subject of genitalia, and it seems like we are on this particular subject a lot at the moment but I'm going with it, I'd like to introduce to you to two photos I took in Oxford which never fail to make me laugh.
"What shall we name this street?"
"Let's have a drink first and THEN we'll worry about that."
Enter with care and tenderness. Don't just go barging in there like you own the place.
In conclusion, this was our attempt at balloon dinosaurs, which were purchased as a birthday gift by someone lovely who had no idea that I am actually quite afraid of balloons, which I might add is a perfectly valid fear for a half-grown woman/full grown otter to have. Yes, I know the worst thing that can happen is that it will pop and make a small noise, but I can't convince my survival instincts. I find it odd that a body which can barely pull itself together long enough to master walking up a flight of stairs without falling over somehow manages to have the reaction speed of a cobra when balloons are around.
Now, I say "our" attempt, but I mostly watched from a safe distance and supervised - which is as we all know my best position during teamwork. Bonus points if you can actually name any of the dinosaurs we made. You will receive special otter points for making up ridiculous but referential dinosaur names.