“Elephant Purée…The no-chewing-no-choking way to eat an elephant.” You want to run a more efficient home, be a better mom, eat healthier, throw a better party, make a fancier door wreath, whiten your teeth, etc., etc. Well I don’t. I just wanna be able to stomach the day without heaving it back up.
I’m afraid this is no place of self-improvement. As a matter of fact, my company has a way of sucking the hope and motivation right out of people.
I tend a table of disjoint — or bar of disjoint, if you will. I am not a woman of sound mind. I serve instability, artlessness, temper, strife. I house grime, debt, regret, dysfunction, addiction, contention, dependencies, broken things, things that shall never be right. And decidedly absent…shame that typically hides such flaws from the light.
No tips, tricks, life hacks, or natural remedies here. For help and how-to, allow me to redirect you to Pinterest or YouTube or About.com. Best of luck to you and a new, improved you.
If you decide to hang out here, though, there’s a chance you may walk away feeling better about yourself than you did before — if you conclude you’re at least better off than “that elephant lady, Lord help her.” There’s the context, and it has nothing to do with efficiency or holiday decor.
A little sidenote: I would never actually eat an elephant. If I were ever tempted, I certainly wouldn’t put the poor thing in a blender.
I have a strong affection for elephants. They’re a majestic species, yet far more critically endangered than most people realize [See CNN article: Our Living Dinosaurs]. They’re worthy of our respect and protection.
I have a strong affection for traditional figures of folk speech, too — like, “There’s more than one way to skin a cat,” and “I’m so mad, I could kick a chicken.” Such turns of phrase are admittedly “rude, crude, and socially unacceptable,” as my mother liked to say. I say, Long live hyperbole, unnecessary expletives, and crass, antiquated rural euphemism. Surely there’s an endangered list somewhere for language like that.
As a jaded, off-balance, graceless statistic of small-town America, I find hope and motivation in subjects like figures of speech. I may not be able to control the health of the job market or the anxiety I feel at lunchtime when it’s way too early for vodka. But I can control my liberal use of idioms and relish them, no matter how trite, corny, or inappropriate they may be. How ’bout we put that in our peace pipe and smoke it? Let’s see if that dog will hunt. How ’bout we throw that against the wall and see if it sticks?
You get my point. Plenty more where that came from, my friend.