Sometimes you look at an image like this and you think: nothing here makes any sense at all. Are they indoors or outdoors? Trapped in some underwater hell, or simply the victims of bad lighting? Why is that middle-management type grilling steaks in that vaguely Asian garden area? If they are indoors, aren't they all going to die from the charcoal fumes? Is it really hygenic to leave more steaks just sitting on that ledge, next to Madge's apparently vast lower body? And perhaps most disturbingly - what is that graven-image/idol thing staring out at us from the right border?I could sit staring at the picture for hours and not come up with a single rational explanation. And not want to.
Well, you know Madge just had to tag along when Herb went to Tokyo to close the deal on the Toyota account. And she just had to "do" the house in an Asian theme when they got back. I mean if that damned Darlene Evans from across the street thinks she's the only one with international flair just because her Tom took her to Tuscanny and they did their lanai over like an Italian villa when they got back. Well, just look at her over there in my yellow chair acting so superior. You know, she's not the only one who doesn't want her home looking like every other rambler in Glen Oaks. How we ever ended up in the San Fernando Valley...well, those are tears for another day. And so what if Herb nixed my Asian stir fry idea for the party menu because he wasn't going to serve guests in his house any "weird soggy vegetables" because where he comes from you serve T-bones to company and we paid damned good money for that stupid fire bowl and god dammit we're going to use it. And who has time for another fight with Herb? Not me, what with trying to keep that filthy boxer Fritz from humping Mother Sinclair's leg ("She'll just be here for a week, Madge, and she's my mother for Christ's sake," that's what Herb said a month ago!). Well, I'm glad Tom Evans pours Mother Sinclair a fresh Manhattan everytime he gets himself another gin & tonic. They'll both be good and stewed in another 15 minutes. That critical old witch will toddle off to the guest room, and I can watch Darlene try to keep Tom's hands off of Brenda Stewart. Not that Brenda ever seems to mind. That blue sweater will be dropping off at any minute, and I don't think anyone will be surprised to find she's wearing a sleeveless dress with a low back. It's like she's begging for attention. I don't know why. I'd be very happy with a kind man like Bud Stewart. Imagine, a husband who cooks! And helps with the housework without being asked! And he's such a wonder with children. I'm sure it's Brenda's fault they don't have any of their own. Look at Bud right now with my little Frankie. Acting like he's so interested in Frankie's fashion sketches. Frankie'll be up in his lap in a few minutes for another of Bud's crazy pony rides. What a gem! And all Herb can muster is a glance at Frankie's sketches and then walk away shaking his head. And I don't care what Herb says about what boys should and shouldn't be doing, I tink it's adorable and quite creative that my Frankie wanted to wear my red blouse as a sort of kimono to keep with the Asian theme. Yes, Frankie's a little different, but he so much more polite and refined than those horrible little ruffians that Darlene is raising. Oh my, I'm getting a little carried away. Thank goodness I stashed some of those nerve pills that Dr. Franklin gave me behind the warrior statue. I'm going to need one. I have to admit I didn't like it when that darling interior designer Carl first brought it over. But Frankie was so nuts about it, well really about everything Carl suggested, anyway I just had to give in. And it has been a good place to hide my extra pills. Herb said he was through with me walking around this place like a god damned zombie and flushed everything in my night stand and in the medicine cabinet. He'll never find the ones in my vanity or my warrior stash. Because that's what this is out here in the suburbs, a damned war. And I'm going to win if it kills me. Now I better get out to the kitchen and get the green beans and the au gratin because Herb'll be pulling those steaks off pretty soon.
ReplyDeleteyeah
ReplyDeleteBill, at times you inspire and frighten me in equal measures. That there is a masterpiece that really ought to be turned into a one-woman show for Julianne Phillips in Far From Heaven mode...
ReplyDeleteCan't you see the caption...."The hibachi is an indispensable addition to your contemporary home. Soften the severe lines with sculpture, say, an antique Chinaman."
ReplyDeleteBill: perchance have you been watching your DVDs of "Mama's Family" this weekend?
ReplyDeleteMama's Family? I'm thinking Strindberg...
ReplyDeleteNeither Mama's Family nor Strindberg. I was watching home movies.
ReplyDeleteWell, God knows, life back at our house was just about a perfect blend of Mama and Strindberg, so it's no wonder it all seemed so familiar...
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