I get an undeniable thrill out of a capsized cliche. More than the bleeding edge of the avant garde, more than the fresh-faced purity of innovation, its the reduced, re-used, recycled and still fantastic that fills me with admiration [and jealousy] for the communicators who create it.
It's the writer (my latest favorite example being Sue Monk Kidd--I've read "The Secret Life of Bees" twice in the past 9 months for just this reason) who can begin a sentence with a phrase so tired I can't help but roll my eyes, then turn it on its ear with such unexpected brilliance I burst into giggles.
It's the designer who creates a mark from the first icon that comes to mind for a company (needle and thread for a tailor, hammer for construction, etc.) and yet I'm forced to admit I've never seen anything like it--and it's perfect.
It's the musician whose song is so formulaic I can sing along the first time I hear it, yet when I find it on repeat in the back of my mind that afternoon, I don't mind.
And finally, this weekend, I can say it's me...
I had a lovely dinner party Sunday evening. I don't know whether to be ashamed or unabashed about the fact that I entertain more for the sake of using my favorite stemware than the conversation or the company--but it was a lovely dinner. As such dinners inevitably do, this one produced a mountain of [hand-wash only] dishes which I didn't even look at until several hours after my guests had gone home.
I'd tunneled a good distance through said mountain, up to my elbows in suds, when I suddenly caught my reflection [no joke] in the side of an overturned stock pot and realized I was washing dishes in high heels and pearls.
I--the 20-something, single, independent career woman who's been called a feminist since she realized she was a girl and seldom spends more than 2 waking hours a day at home--was standing in the kitchen the quintessential image of a 1950's housewife.
Dripping alone in my kitchen, I had a good laugh and on the wave of that thrill, I move forward with renewed faith that somewhere in my subconscious waits a capsizer of cliches, a refurbisher of the rhetorical, a transformer of the trite...a true creative genius.
That's some fine writing there, kiddo. Nice work!
I have several very important comments, Miss Joy, so pay attention.
1. You're not as much of a feminist as you think. You're rather like a chocolate covered marshmallow bunny. Hard femine chocolate exterior with a gooey,delicious mormon housewife inside. You're a bunny because bunny's are cute and cuddley, but are also very curvy and the very mention of word bunny to a man invokes images of the playboy bunnies. The rest of the world may think you're the buttoned up conservative, but I know better. You wear fishnets.
2.I'm so proud of you wearing high heels. I knew my obsession would rub off on you. At least one roomate in all my houses converts by the time I'm through with them. As Manolo says, “You put high heels on and you change.� Change is good, very good.
3. I'm so glad someone else my age is obsessed with dishes. It's one of my secret passions. I have enough expensive dishes that I think I need to invest in a china cabinet. The words Portmeirion, and Bone China send chills down my spine.
Shortstack, conceded on all points. As usual, you're brilliant! Thanks for the comment :)
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Hi
Sorry for that:( but my kids need to eat.