Post XXXV

Arrgh! Furniture!

I discovered this week something I found utterly, uncontrollably hilarious, although now I think about it, unless you have exactly the same reaction, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Well, here’s goes. There are places in the USA called Eureka. Funny, eh? What? Why aren’t you laughing? Think about it. Imagine this scenario. “Where do you live?” “Eureka”. “Oh my word, what is it?” “No, Eureka.” “Yes, yes! What have you discovered?” “No, no, noEureka.” “I’m getting a bit annoyed now – you’ve got this fantastic idea and you won’t tell me what it is – I’m starting to think you might not be so clever”. “Oh, for the love of – why did we name a town after some ancient Greek dude?” I think you’d be fed up after doing that for a while. It’s the same issue with America in Maine. “Where do you live?” “America!” “Yes – but where?” “America!” “Do you speak English?” It’s just such a big place. No wonder they ran out of names.

Names fascinate me. Words fascinate me. I’ve said it before so I’ll say it again – it’s why the ladies love me so. Why do people keep laughing when I say that? More importantly, the right word to sum up the never-ending series of comical mishaps that define my life is difficult. I mean, you would imagine that nothing could top panicking after not knowing what to do after getting the wrong bus ticket, or setting the kitchen on fire the year before last, or even that time the year before that when I, and this is true, fell over the Christmas Tree whilst decorating it and sprained my wrist. But you’d be wrong, because this week a Welsh Dresser fell on me.

Now, when I say ‘fell on me’, it didn’t happen randomly. I wasn’t walking by a Welsh Dresser and all of a sudden, the six and a half foot cabinet leapt on top of me. I mean, I’m not saying furniture has declared war on their Human oppressors. What? You think a dining room chair doesn’t feel oppressed when a 15 stone Human sits on its very surface stuffing his face with turkey. I tell you, if furniture isn’t oppressed it’s certainly sadistic.

I feel some context is needed. It’s not every day a Welsh Dresser decides to fall on your noggin and give you a bruise bigger than that I time I ran into a wall. I feel context is needed with that, also, but I’m getting incredibly messed up in contexts. Like at Christmas when you’re tying up the string with a bow on each of your dad’s slippers but you find yourself all muddled up and crying in a corner with a bottle of whisky wondering if your dad would notice if you actually sent him a gift this year. I feel some context is needed. Last Christmas, I got my dad some slippers and I wrapped up each of them individually and then wrapped them up together for a laugh. Kind of like when you put a whoopee cushion under someone’s seat, a sort of general practical joke. I feel some context is needed here. Like on that day I wasn’t feeling very well and my brother tickled me until I was crying with laughter, which made me feel better. I feel some context is needed. I wasn’t feeling very well because I was four and I had just run into a wall by accident. Which gave me a huge bruise on my noggin.

We were trying to move some furniture downstairs when the dresser fell on me, but furniture moving is one of those things that happen at the same time every year. ‘Oh, in January, let’s have a cleanup and move half the house around’. You’re there thinking ‘wonderful, it’ll be great’, but then it hits you. You are going to have to do a lot of the work. Now, I know you’re thinking ‘well, what’s the problem?’ but when it’s a six and a half foot Welsh Dresser that has a habit of falling on people is involved in the moving, you can imagine what my problem is.

Oh yes, this dresser-from-hell has done this sort of thing before, which leads me to believe it might hate this family for filling it with crap from the ‘30s. It fell on my mum once. She was cleaning the top of it and it went over. I heard a scream of something along the lines of ‘my crockery!’ I run downstairs and there she is, trapped up against the wall, with one hand on the top of the cabinet and another trying to keep the doors shut. ‘Save my crockery!’ she yelled as I ran to her aid. ‘Sod the crockery’, I said, ‘nobody cares about the ‘30s!’ She was fine. Made of stern stuff she is. The cabinet, though. My word, still we have it and still it stares at us all gleaming white and menacing. I’m watching you, pal.

We got it moved. I much preferred it in the dining room, but I think it did too, and that puts a huge smile on my face.

‘There is nothing so stable as change’, said the late, great Bob Dylan.

Peace Out :|:

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