The Clown Conundrum

I've made it all the way to Raleigh, North Cackalacky. In a separate post I'll tell you about all the fun I had trying to outrun a tornado and not drown in Tropical Storm Claudette while fleeing Alabama to Tennessee, but at this particular moment, I have a pressing conundrum I need your help with.

Henry and I are regrouping at a kindred-spirit friend's home, that friend being Rhoda Jane Willis, a neologist of sorts of the term "Ho Shine" and the speaker of some other unforgettable, strung-together words (you know, a sentence) that I've appropriated to apply my own meaning for certain occurrences in life, and I'm purposely being vague about this, because one of the words, unfortunately, is not so PC nowadays, regardless of how accurate and hilarious its relevance in certain situations. (I'll probably end up telling you all about it in another post, because I just never know when to shut my trap.)

Rhoda Jane is married to a ridiculous man. Since you people know me, you know that when I say he's a ridiculous man, you know I mean he's awesome. His name is Waverly. He's a southern gentleman. Respectful. Old fashioned. He's a biologist who works in the farm equipment business. Still refers to his parents as momma and daddy. He loves Rhoda Jane to death, which pumps my heart with joy to witness.

Waverly is also a clown figurine collector.

I've set up my work station in their dining room, and behind me on the table, Waverly has set out a collection of clown figurines for my viewing pleasure. Anytime of the day, all I have to do is take a simple gander over my right shoulder to appreciate this gang of clowns.

Just as the kind, respectful person his momma and daddy raised him to be, Waverly has generously insisted that I, as a guest in his home, select one of these clown figurines as a gift from him to me.

I never imagined I'd find myself in the middle of a clown conundrum, so how could I have ever prepared for this?

I imagine that many of you might experience the seemingly universal reaction to clowns, maybe similar to the universal aversion humans have to spiders and snakes and orange-tinged skin. Thus, I'm sure you can feel my anxiety. What a decision to make.

I've studied several books on how to survive an end-of-the-world scenario. I've trained for back-country and avalanche rescue. I've practiced living as a hobo, surviving on minimal provisions. My mom taught me the skills of a housewife, and my dad taught me the skills of a lumberjack, so I'm well-equipped for all sorts. But, I find myself completely lost here.

So, kittens. How do I put this? If God was holding a gun to your head and said "Pick a clown figurine!" which one would you select?