I have purchased a Birdo.
I can’t explain why. It seemed like a sensible use of my Amazon Prime account at the time, but I’m aware that it is so very pink and also so very strange to people who did not grow up spending more time with the Mario Bros. than, say, actual humans.
Here is a list of possible things I can tell people when they ask what the hell this thing is.
“This is something completely normal for a 32-year-old, unmarried man to own.”
“This is, like, the only pink thing I own.”
“This is just where I store my big, red bow.”
“This is an exhibit I’m lobbying for inclusion in the Museum of Intelligent Design.”
“This is a sex toy. I think it’s pretty obvious how it’s used.”
“This is to gay video game-players what those saint candles are to Catholic grandmas.”
“This is a plush version of the most popular transsexual character in video game history.”
“This is something that I would not have let myself own before I stopped caring.”
“This is a thing that shoots non-fertile eggs out of its mouth, and what kind of God would let that happen?”
“This is known in Japan as Catherine. No, really.”
“This is an object that my will shall assign to someone like you, who does not know what it is. And I will give it solely so that the recipient also has to wonder what it is. Now let us never speak of it again.”
“This just showed up one day. I’m actually unclear what it is myself. But isn’t it soft?”