Hot Metal Chicken

Do you ever have one of those moments where you find something funny and you are pretty sure that no one else is going to find it even half as funny as it is to you? Yeah. I seem to have a lot of those moments. 

A Christmas not too long ago my grandmother had gifted me a bottle of perfume.  I don't wear a lot of perfume, because I hate trying to find a scent that I like and going into a perfume store is an instant migraine. I was surprised at the gift (and hoping it was a subtle hint that I stunk).   It was the name of the bottle that caused my mental funny bone to kick in.

I follow The Bloggess.  I read her blog, follower her on Twitter and I have gifted her books more than once. There is a lovely antidote about perspective that involves a six foot tall metal chicken called Beyoncé that is one of my favorite posts and one that has been most shared among my group of friends.  The only reason I bring it up, is that the perfume my grandmother picked up for me was Beyoncé Heat.  All I can think about when I pick up the bottle  and spritz it on my collar line is that I am going to smell like a hot metal chicken and then I start snickering.  I am sure that my grandmother picked it out for it's light citrus scent with a slight honeysuckle  glow, but it doesn't matter to me.  It is my hot metal chicken perfume and I rock that chicken.