While driving around looking for a place to get hot tea during travels last week, we popped into a bookstore that ended up being a comic shop with a few cases of books thrown in. One book was called "Coloring with Children."
Me: Coloring with children, that sounds illegal. Also, wouldn't it limit the shades in your picture?
Chris: Eventually, it'd all be red.
Me: Well. That got disturbing.
I think it's important to note that my images of coloring with children were all innocent and cartoonish; they involved children singing about diversity whilst kind-heartened giants rubbed them lightly across the pages. Fun for all involved. My husband somehow turned it into a grizzly scene of gory art. And he says I'm weird.
Later, we were still in search of a tea house when we drove through a collection of high-end shops. You know, the kind where you know you can't afford anything, but it doesn't matter, because no group of shops that pristine and alike are going to offer something of interest.
Within the building was a place called "The Body Factory."
Me: Look! The Body Factory. (whispering:) Do they make people there?
Me: Let's go in; I'd like to see people being made.
Me: Perhaps that's where you can order children filled with colors other than blood.
Chris: You are weird.