Have you ever looked down at your chest and gone “WTF, when did I eat mustard?” Well it might as well be a daily occurrence for me. As proof, I have officially stained my new white skirt. I have no idea how, but apparently something coffee coloured spilled on it (I don’t even drink coffee!). And, I’m refusing to throw the skirt away, because:
- It’s a super comfortable skirt; and,
- I haven’t gotten $29.99 worth of wear out of it yet. (True story, I’m cheaper than I am vain.)
Don’t get me wrong, a stain is still embarrassing, but I have a plan. Every time someone notices the stain I’m going to be all “what stain?”, then search, ‘find it’ and look all disappointed (I’m practicing the look in the mirror.)
The not-owning-white-cloths rule should extend to owning or even sitting on white furniture. I have a terror that I will sit down and then there will be a TV-style flash-forward to me (empty glass in hand) standing over the previously-white chesterfield now covered in cranberry juice.
Me – How the hell did I get cranberry juice?
Couch Owner – You asked for cranberry juice.
Me (Incredulous fury) – Never give me cranberry juice!
Couch Owner – Ok here’s some Clamato instead.
(Flash forward. Repeat.)
I worry about these things, because someone has to.
Writing Exercise:
What if your TV was alive? Consider how strange the world would look to a machine that we spend so much time staring at each day. Some people just stare, while others interact; yelling at characters and shows, asking why the picture is fuzzy, crying at a tragic plot twist. In your world does the machine know we watch stories on it, or does it perhaps think that we are interacting in some unexplainable way? Is the TV aware of the signals it receives and sends? Does it hear the stories coming from it and wonder where they are? Or, if it knows it is technology, does it fear the next generation with thinner screens and bigger resolution? Park yourself in a corner and spend ten minutes as a TV.
Happy writing.
