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…

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