I probably big-up Alec here a bit more than is healthy for his ego, but really, what kind of guy dresses a ghetto blaster up as a sheep, complete with cotton balls for fluff and black socks on toilet rolls for hooves, and carries it across London to give his girlfriend at Christmas?
Judging from the malevolent looks he was apparently getting from other guys in the tube, some might say a specially sad kind of guy, but let me redeem him from male condemnation here.
I’m rather fond of sheep. I think they’re cute (and for the record, I think most baby animals, some human babies, and fuzzy things in general are cute too, so sue me). For my past two birthdays, Russ gave me these adorable sheep, which I’m inordinately fond of.
Alec, being a cynical old git, is less than enamoured with their ickle fuzzy nature. Add to this the fact that Russ has a proud tradition of giving me kickass presents, and has also thrown down some cybergauntlets of his own, and you get my boyfriend’s decision to dress his gift to me up as a big motherfucker of a sheep, and make it trample the two ickle ones.
[I should clarify: no bad blood actually exists between them. They accept each other as important people to me, who they care about, but also legitimate sources of mutual shameless wisecracking. I love both of them dearly, and all three of the sheep. I love my ghetto blasta’ from Alec (it plays MP3 CDs!) and my Daydream Nation on vinyl (with poster and promo photo of the band, press release, and cover print!) from Russ. I am a veritable love-fest these days, which is a nice if embarrassingly soppy thing to be.]