It is rumored to hide underfoot.
According to folklore, it keeps animals to protect its secrets. When we delve too deeply into its canyons and caves, wild things roar up and shake their hairy heads at us.
It draws us downward daily, according to our mass, and tires us into sleep. It causes us to dream. In this suggestible state men receive what scientists call "neural janglents" to make us distracted and jumpy. Women do not.
Creation myths unanimously describe our assembly from soil --men of clay, snails, puppydog tails. Women emerge, wiser and less insecure, from more transcendent materials --everything nice. They intuit and aid the tremendous operations of Earth, like recycling.
Earth wants us to recycle. I have taken notes on the appropriate ritual, a recitative exchange of astonishing antiquity and brevity:
She: Do you mind? It's garbage-out night.
I: No, keep me. I'm still good!
Somehow, I suspect she isn't ready to recycle you just yet. (I mean, you actually carry out the garbage????)Fun post.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Susan. But yes! I carry the garbage. It is a state law. Norma told me so herself.
ReplyDeleteYou mean, I can just recycle my husband once I've had enough? And will they send me another? a sort of Franken-recycle-man.
ReplyDeleteIt seldom comes to that, CarrieBoo. So much can be done with programming updates and auxiliary memory chips. I, for instance, am almost completely housetrained.
ReplyDeleteyour post confuses me but it kept me awake until the dryer shut off
ReplyDeleteHigh praise indeed! Thank you Janice.
ReplyDelete