Charlton Heston in the news got me thinking about a 2500 square foot house I cleaned last fall decorated in Bazooka-gum pink—pink carpets, trim, satin chairs, bedclothes, “throws”, throw “pillows”, very functional, cream-colored wallpaper with matching plaster trash bins in 3 dimensional angels and raised pink Victorian roses, lace, frills, silk flower arrangements, wispy transparent curtains, also very functional, embroidery, darning baskets, thousands of handmade doilies beneath as many ceramic figurines, covering yet again as many pink and cream-colored surfaces, bunny rabbit wood-carvings, bunny soap and shampoo bottles, bunny sconces, underpants, silverware, rubber boots, buck-toothed rabbits painted on all pink and cream colored bedroom doors, toilet seat covers, computer hatch? You got it: fifteen foot molded plastic bunny rabbit, all of which makes you want to go kill a dozen of the motherfuckers, and as luck would have it, the house is equipped with dozens of gun racks, rifles, and six-shooters, hanging on walls, tucked under pillows, double-barreled shotguns leaning in all four corners of the rooms, NRA paraphernalia and Soldier of Fortune magazines, fully loaded leather ammunition belts curled up on sofa, next to pink and cream colored stuffed bunnies, the woman who hired me is wearing the fashion equivalent of potpourri and has social graces of Rodney Dangerfield in Natural Born Killers, the husband, who looks like a flannel ad in Johnny Walker Belt Buckle and Mickey Gilley Stetson, is soft-spoken, genteel and considerate, oh I get it, they’ve each married their true motif, the exact thing they cannot allow themselves to be, gosh, how does this sort of thing happen to perfectly normal Texans with 2 dogs and an off-road-vehicle, not a hint of anarchy in their protocol, just your traditional, non-threatening infantilized woman and he who wears the pants while eating raw bloody rabbit ripped apart by hand (her hand or his?) nice insanity is acceptable so long as it is a private and closed system, yes there is something touching in this arrangement, so long as nothing ever goes on beyond their front door, you’d have to be a monster not to be moved by this couple’s sweetly un-sophisticated hemorrhoids hanging in full view outside their winking ass-holes, I’m sure to remember their remarkable dementia until I forget it.
Copyright 2002 Robin Plan and troublewaits.com. All rights reserved.