Vincent and I were strolling through a pet store last weekend. We passed some dog cages, and he turns to me and says, "We should get you a birdcage."
What birdcages and dog cages have in common, other than being cages, I don't know. I assumed he got bored with constantly referring to me as his little doggy (he does this just to see the blush on my face, and watch me get all indignant and insistent that I am NOT a little doggy), and decided it was time to switch to birds. Which is okay with me. I'd much rather be a songbird in a birdcage, than a dog in a kennel.
Anyway, I asked him, "And what would I do in this birdcage?"
"Sleep, of course. You don't need much room, just enough to curl up inside."
Of course, sleep. Curled in a ball. Unable to move.
Oh the things he comes up with!