Did the Great Platypus make my Laundry Basket?
He showed up this morning without warning. Not a phone call. Not a knock. Not even an email.
With the epiphanic bomb he was about to drop on me, you would think he would at least have the proverbial balls to send some kind of sign or warning. A quick lightning bolt to the earlobe… A burning hairbrush with words of guidance… Shit, even a single singing telegram delivered by a Sea at low tide would have been enough.
But, no. He caught me unprepared. He symbolically slapped me with a pubescent pineapple while I was unsuspectingly watering my house plant (whose name, though irrelevant, is Ignacio).
As I turned towards the sink to refill my glass blender (yes I water Ignacio with the same receptacle that I use to mix my morning fruit Smoothies), I was suddenly kicked by a steel-toed and profound Epiphanic Moment (Ok—if ‘epiphanic’ isn’t a word yet, it should be!). And I had to stop, completely transfixed by a spectacular and chore-halting display of beauty.
I couldn’t help but stare.
The color composition was exquisite. The geometric design, impeccable. The chaotic exactitude, seemingly miraculous.
How could such an incredible masterpiece have just appeared from nowhere? How could so many improbable elements have come together at just the right moment to allow for the blossoming of such a powerful exhibition of life energy? There couldn’t possibly be a viable, falsifiable and comprehensive explanation for the origins of such a complex and spectacular splurge of seeming splendor aside from that of an Intelligent Designer…
And then my pseudo-religious epiphany was toppled by a devilish and logical inner voice.
“Why the hell are you staring at your overflowing laundry basket?” asked the voice.
“Because it’s so beautiful,” I answered. “I can’t stop wondering how something so complex and aesthetically precise in its imbalance could develop without the aid of some extra-terrestrial, higher-powered hand. I mean, it seems damn-near improbable that the fuchsia panties would just HAPPEN to be lying so perfectly beside the worn denim jeans, and that the forest green cargo shorts would just HAPPEN to fall so complimentarily close to the off-red Engrish tank top reading ‘Life always happily, Be Cheer.’ I have a hard time believing that science could explain that.”
“Well,” the voice said, “YOU tossed all of those terribly unstylish articles of clothing there. I think the most logical explanation is simply that you have poor aim.”
“But I just hurled my clothes at the laundry basket randomly, and without intent or underlying meaning,” I countered.
“But… how can you explain the complexity of color composition and the emotion-invoking beauty of this laundry landscape? I mean, something of such beauty doesn’t just EVOLVE through arbitrary disrobement. That seems too difficult to explain. It must have been CREATED with some intent purpose and meaning, by some force grander than myself.”
“Nope. You just took off your dirty clothes and threw them there." The voice was sounding very matter-of-fact now. "Your clothes fell the way they did due to a lot of physical and chemical factors we can discuss at a later time. As for the awesome beauty of your soiled array of clothing-- it’s just as simultaneously random and precise as your own beautiful existence. There IS, however, one last matter to address…: the matter of WHY you removed your pink panties before throwing them there…”
“Isn’t that irrelevant, though, if the beauty of my dirty clothes heap was not meaningfully sculpted by an omnipotent Designer?”
“Absolutely. But, it makes for better conversation.”
*Editor's note: No, those are not my panties.
But, they'd probably look good in my laundry basket.