Ever since I finished the egg, a vaguely fairy-talish phrase has been wandering through my skull, kicking my poor gray brain in various tender areas. I don’t know if it wants to be a painting yet.
The phrase is “There was an old woman who lived in a rutabaga.”
Hmm. I could do a rutabega? baga? house. Or I could do a snail-like old woman with a rutabega shell. Hmm. That sounds a little more disturbing than I quite want to go.
Sometimes these phrases just wander in…