So you ask yourself, self, you ask, why does a completely reasonable adult person such as yourself spend hours doing kid-stuff jigsaw puzzles?
Then your other self says, you don't really want to ask yourself that, do you, self?
This ain't no kid stuff, baby.
This is high-end thinking, for chrissake. It is transcendent. What reasonable adult person wouldn't want to tediously recreate "Allegory of Sight" by Jan Brueghel the Elder or "Femme a Tete de Roses" by Salvador Dali?
You put together ol' Hieronymus Bosch's "Garden of Earthly Delights" one tiny agonizing piece at a time and you learn some shit, baby. Yes, that is a little piggy in a nun's habit sucking that guy's ear in the lower right hand corner. And yes those are a bunch of posies sticking out of that guy's ass right underneath the guy holding the giant fish head in the center panel. And this was like, 1503!
Van Gogh's staccato brush strokes in "Cafe Terrace at Night?" Ear or no ear, this guy knew his starry nights, mo' fo.
But this Mona Lisa babe? Chick's got zippo. DO NOT believe the bullshit. She's got no intrigue, no secrets, no surprises. I did the whole puzzle--all one thousand pieces--and all I had when I was done was a silly little broad with bad hair and no eyebrows. Made me sort of wonder iffin' the da Vinci in drag people aren't onto something. I mean, look at her hands for chrissake.
As for feminine mystique, where are her fingernails? What about her knuckles? Wonder how she was in the sack. My advice to you is, if you're into puzzles, forget this broad.
I am off to buy my next puzzle. I'm looking for something I can understand. I want eyebrows where there should be eyebrows and fingernails where there should be fingernails.
I want regular American plain, and I don't anticipate having any trouble finding it with this chick.
* * *