If you asked my husband what is the one absurd thing he could buy me that would make me endlessly happy, he would answer without hesitating: a pair of ceramic dogs. I mean, a real dog also, duh, I'm not a robot. But we've agreed that no matter how majestic a dog's beard is, I cannot have one until we have a house. I'm too lazy to go up and down 3 flights of stairs all day, beardy dog or no.
No, my current dream tchotchke is a pair of ceramic dogs. Really, obnoxiously preppy ones. Ones that look like they rest on velvet pillows and have their own country club memberships. If they were real, they would drink evian and eat organic meat prepared by live-in help. Even while ceramic, they were made to wear a bow tie and a jaunty hat befitting the current holiday season. Oh, my god, I need them.
This, however, is the tip of the iceberg. Basically, anything in the shape of a whimsical animal fills me with the kind of glee usually reserved for children hopped up on birthday cake. The Mister refers to them all under a blanket term of 'creatures', and knows when I gasp audibly that either an actual, beardy dog is nearby, or else there's some kind of insane statue of a lion with his paw on a brass ball, or a taxidermied beast looking like he needs a pair of spectacles. Honestly, it might all hinge on the promise of accessories.
Oh, Foo dogs, how I love you. Jonathan Adler is a big proponent of Foo dogs. He advises that wherever you are, whenever you see a pair, you must buy it. They will reward you later. And I agree. Just look at those insane, googly eyes and the giant grin. Yes, please.
When we got married this summer, I spent hours on this delightful Etsy site, hemming and hawing over which animals I wanted us to be on our cake. The issue is that years ago, on the first birthday I celebrated with my eventual ball-and-chain, I made him a deranged cake. I had decided (inspired by a Juicyfruit ad that was running at the time where a man and a llama fed one another candy) that he looked a lot like a llama in glasses. This was a very high compliment in my book, and I made a cake in the shape of a llama, complete with a little pair of glasses that matched the real-life version.
The best part was it was red velvet, so when you cut it open... well, we've all seen Steel Magnolias. Let's not pretend I'm original.
So without a llama option for the cake topper, I ended up hemming and hawing myself into not doing squat for a topper, and instead just dream of someday making a paper mache llama head for him alongside a mouse for me (old family nickname), and hanging them over our eventual fire place like hunting trophies.
WELL HELLO. You might do instead. Yes, yes, you might do just fine. And until then, I will continue to pine over the greyhounds that began the whole thing - found on 1st dibs by my last boss, and installed in a client's zany fabulous home. Just look at those things.