Big, brass balls

So, most of you know that I have a thing for giraffes. I won’t spend a lot of time waxing poetic over how much I love them, how they are magnificent and beautiful and how I would have one as a pet if Mountain View zoning laws would permit it. Just think of how much money you would save on tree trimming! I could ride it to work!

Anyways, I love them.

So I was walking down the sidewalk in La Jolla this weekend and spotted a giraffe sculpture outside of an art gallery. And it was GORGEOUS. I thought to myself “That would look AMAZING in the backyard!” and so I snapped a photo, which I do when I see something I want to reference later. Observe, and tell me that it wouldn’t look stunning poking out from some shrubbery:



Charming, right?

My family was up ahead, heading down an alley towards the beach. I ran to catch up to them and as I was passing the giraffe saw something out of the corner of my eye that brought me to a dead halt. “No, it can’t be THAT?!” I thought, but it was.

I ran up ahead, grabbed Holly and said “You’ve got to see this…and more importantly, you need to cover me because I’m about to act like a 12 year old girl and take a horribly immature photograph.”

Behold:



Those, my friends, are some huge, brass balls. It brings up some questions for me. Namely, WHO PUTS REPRODUCTIVE ORGANS ON A GIRAFFE SCULPTURE? Was there a penis under there? I didn’t get a chance to check as suddenly there was a crush of people on the sidewalk and I didn’t think feeling up a giraffe was appropriate to do a) in front of an audience and b) in front of my niece. What kind of research did the artist do to get the proportions right? And most importantly, WHY?

Holly patiently stood by while I caught this on film and had my mental seizure (for which I thank you, love) and agreed that it was something you didn’t see every day. Why you would want to see it on ANY day is really my concern.

Yet I’d still buy it. Think of it as a conversation starter. Or a way to make the men in your life feel inadequate.