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.
“Precisely.”
“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.
4 comments:
Ahhh, the raw and powerful beauty of the unstructured laundry pile. It's like a new work of art, every week. Yet more evidence of the existence of the Great, All-Holy Platypus! Amen!
P.S. Haha, "Engrish." (Super happy fun life windowpane!)
P.P.S. Tell Ignacio I say hi.
Why did you remove your panties before throwing them in the laundry basket? Epiphanical speaking, of course.
I'm not surprised that you have beautiful laundry. Do not Brittany, Paris, Jay Lo, etc. also toss their
dirty discards into artistic disarray by happenstance?
Some folks might think it odd that you recognize the beauty of a basket full of dirty clothes and hold council with a platypus.
Not me, not me, not me.
having just put another load of laundry into the washer, I was contemplating the pastoral quality of the simplicity of an empty laundry basket, the sleek lines meshing together harmoniously beneath the soft glare of a wash cycle light... inspired to take another splash of scotch on the waiting ice and pondering those neverending questions of "does the great platypus seperate her colors or does she allow an omnipotent power to sort them and protect them in a communal washing?"
dingobear- Ignacio says hi. And he's asking the almighty Platypus why you haven't called.
cap'n rich- Evolutionarily speaking... I mean, EPIPHANICALLY speaking, well, panties just have to be tossed in order to promote reproduction of the species. I'm sure Brittany, Paris and Jay Lo have done the same. I can't wait for the Enquirer article to come out: "Platypus found purring beside Paris's panties!"
frustrated writer- The astounding beauty of the great platypus's empty laundry basket also makes me wonder if she has a more perfect, color-sorting laundry professional above her... Well if she does, then THAT laundry sorter must also have a dirty clothes-sorting boss. And THAT boss must also have a clothing, color-combining boss... etc. I, personally, think that because my clothes sometimes come out bright pink, tie-dyed or shrunken, that it was a random communal load, and that even the great platypus didn't have a hand in it... (but please don't tell her I said that!)
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