Interpretation

How come characters in books and movies are never sitting around playing computer games while the stereo blares in the background, the television sans sound is showing a repeat of a repeat and they’re stuffing themselves with beer and popcorn?  I mean how boring is that?  Oh wait, that’s me.  

Even the SSLF’s (Smart Single Ladies of Fiction) have more exciting chapters than that.  Their scenes go something like this:  “While I ran the dishwasher, started a load of laundry, put the roast in the oven (just in case the lead male character shows up), had Mozart mumbling in the background, sipped on a glass of Merlot dressed in designer jeans and silk T-shirt, my bare toes pressed into the fur of my Afghan Wolfhound lying on the clean floor at my feet, I sat at the kitchen island and discovered the missing papers hidden in the ancient family bible I had stolen by breaking into my neighbor’s house proving he is the serial killer and … what’s that noise, someone tampering with the lock on the fifth floor balcony door and why isn’t the security system going off?”  

Let’s interpret that into reality … okay, my reality.  The dishwasher is me and a sink of hot water.  The laundry is in the trunk of my car waiting for me to actually stop at the coin laundry with both coins and detergent (which will freeze in the winter) at the same time.  You can’t use my oven, it’s full of pots and pans that don’t fit into the kitchen cabinets and the roast is a chicken boiling on top of the stove.  Rock is the music of choice and the volume level is on high (any more appliances and the circuit breaker will blow), the Merlot sports a screw cap, my jeans are torn which I guess could make them fashionable but not fit for public appearance dependent of where the rips are and my tee-shirt is spotted from where I forgot the chicken was on the stove and it boiled over.  My toes are bare but the floor is far from clean and I’m almost sure the mutt had developed fleas.  The kitchen island is a secondhand table where all four legs reach to different heights so the wine isn’t level in the juice glass but it is rapidly sinking.  And the only thing I ever found in a book was a really nice bookmark in a library book the library probably thought I had stolen (the book, not the bookmark which I did steal) because I kept it for so long.  I don’t’ know my neighbors, serial or otherwise, me and the mutt are the only security on site and the only person whoever broke in was my drunk daughter in the middle of the night without her shoes, cell phone or bra but managed to remembered the key to my backdoor and where said door was located among all the others that look just like it on the public parking lot.  She wasn’t that good at the keyhole and the only thing going off is me at the computer.

So the moral of the story is, it’s not how you live your life, it’s how you interpret it and with a good imagination you can turn dust into gold, turn cds into symphonies, turn water into … wait, someone already did that one … and turn the mutt into a single man with a steady job who doesn’t lie and can cook.  I really do have a wild imagination.  And this piece can count as the blog for this week so I can get back to the important stuff like ignoring reality and playing computer games.