Linda approached her project with the intensity of a chef prepping a soufflé, which, coincidentally, was exactly what she was doing. Armed with a can opener, a paintbrush, and a dubious amount of glitter, she declared, “This birdhouse will be the talk of the neighborhood!” Her neighbor, Bob, peered over the fence, squinting at her creation. “That’s a soup can,” he said. “It’s a statement piece,” Linda retorted, smearing blue acrylic paint over the label. By noon, the can was a turquoise monstrosity with a tiny door cut from a pizza box. She hung it from a tree, awaiting applause. Instead, a squirrel knocked it into a bush. Linda sighed, then grinned. “Perfect,” she whispered, repurposing the can into a planter for cacti. By week’s end, the bush had become a graffiti-covered art installation, and Bob was painting his own can in the driveway. The birds never came, but the neighborhood sure did.
