Left to my own devices on Saturday night, I smacked myself in the face with a plate and I am now sporting a black eye. It doesn’t seem possible does it? Not unless you deliberately raised a plate of blue cheese and sun dried tomatoes up to your head and slammed it in your eye. But I didn’t. I merely sat down with my plate in my right hand, and grabbed the remote control with the left and hey ho plate walloped face in the kind of odd accident in the home it is almost impossible to describe…
But then life is full of odd things isn’t it? Yesterday I was standing at the sink with my hands in a bowl of lavender scented bubbles when I saw, in amongst the leaves decorating the decking in the garden, the photograph of Mr and Mrs Nobody above. And there they were, in their wedding finery, with Mrs Nobody carrying what appears to be a fuzzy black cat. I mean really, odd mais non? Not just the marital pussy cat, but also the fact that these people I do not recognise have fluttered their way into my life, and must now be surely given pride of place in amongst my collection of vintage wedding portraits. Dear little people, please rest assured you have found your spirital home: I only hope yours was and still is a match made in heaven….
Perhaps odd seeks me out? Perhaps I go looking for it! Or perhaps odd happens to other people all day everyday and it simply doesn’t register on their internal list of oddities? Yes that might be it: maybe other people smack themselves in the face with a plate all the time and they just don’t see fit to talk about it. Maybe it would never, ever, never enter their head that a simple accident is just that: an accident. Not a dispatch from my conscience telling me I am eating too much cheese! Perhaps they would have just picked up Mr and Mrs Nobody, still soaking wet from one of these relentless Winter showers, and instead of taking them in and drying them slowly on a warm radiator, gently wrapped in a white towel, they would have simply walked them to the bin and never stopped to dwell on just what kind of omen the universe had delivered to their door. I mean really what could a woman in a wedding dress carrying a furry cat mean anyway??
And there you have it: my penchant for all things odd must be explained away by the fact I am always looking for meanings. For messages. For direction and instruction. And for truth. Because I cannot rely on myself? Because I do not trust my own instincts? Because it isn’t enough to know that I smacked myself in the eye because I am a clumsy and that the kind of winds we have been having lately will surely deliver all kinds of paper rubbish too my door before the season is through? Or simply because I am as mad as a box of frogs?
Ahem. Mad meet odd. Try to behave yourselves won’t you? A person gets terribly exhausted by your shenanigans.