Don't you judge me, Tex.

Gasp! Caught on Camera, caught on camera! My beloved beta reader sent me this photo over the weekend. She'd lent my book to a friend, and while she and said friend were out for drinks, her friend received this picture plus a text from her fiancé reading, "Tex and I both want to know what the fuck this is about." Apparently, steamy romance novels are not something commonly left lying around their house, incriminating absent parties. I won't lie—it is just a bit thrilling to traumatize another woman's fiancé and pet.

Does everyone get it, now?

I take a lot of flak from my extended family-in-law for my desire to squeeze round birds. Not to hurt the birds, mind you. Just to, you know…squeeze them. Gently. In my cupped hands. My cousins like to paint this as sexual deviance, but that's because they themselves are perverts. Ignorant perverts, trying to shift focus from their own issues. My bird-squeezing inclinations are one hundred percent nurturing. I mean, look at old Huggums up there, and tell me you don't want to give him a little squeeze. Just look at his thumbs!

Okay, technical stuff: this bird is not called Huggums, he is actually called a buff-breasted sandpiper. He does not have thumbs. He is not actually looking to get squozen, but rather he's performing his species' [hilarious] armpit-flashing mating dance. Photo credit to the talented Gerrit Vyn.