We haven't always been closeminded. When we were born we looked at the world with eyes of wonder, receptive and open to all the stimuli that came flooding in. We were a little growing flower, and the world was our sunshine. We were curious, that's the truth of it, and we couldn't learn enough about all the exciting things that were happening all around us.
Then came 1963, and the Great Littlestown Flood. It took our mother and father, and our sister and brothers, and our house and our car, and even our dog, Flopsie. We were left to wander the devastated flood plain in our underpants, shivering. People, our mother and father, and our sister and our brothers, and even Flopsie, say it didn't happen. But what would they know?--they all died, Flopsie included, after falling into a crevasse in Switzerland during a ski vacation in 1966, which they also claim didn't happen. Some families are happy families and some families are sad families and some families just refuse to give up the ghost, no matter how convenient it would be in explaining our subsequent problems adjusting to life.
The truth is that due to our family's stubborn refusal to become collectively deceased in a tragic accident or act of god, we have no idea why we are the way we are. Their selfishness denied us a good story to hang our dysfunction on, and we have never forgiven them for it. If they'd only all fallen into that crevasse in Switzerland, we'd have a stranglehold on the pity of our fellows and the ideal reason for being the self-pitying wreck we are. Instead, they're all around to call us a liar whenever we try to bring up the terrible crevasse tragedy at the Thanksgiving table. It still works with shrinks though. We tell them both stories, to make them feel doubly sorry for us.
Anyway, that's why we became closeminded. Our whole family died in the Great Littlestown Fire of 1967, which was started by Flopsie, who accidentally knocked a can of propane into a pile of oily rags during that dry tinder summer when we still believed in everything and all of life seemed like an open book, say the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, Eleventh Edition page 447, upon which you will find the definition of the word "fabulist".
Mike, please give Flopsie a good kicking and then do some yoga, do it until Sting doesn't matter anymore, ok, will you?
Anyway, I had to laugh hard each time Flopsie was mentioned and several more times. Great story!
Posted by: Jan Martin Löhndorf | January 11, 2012 at 02:06 PM
I did yoga again last night. I tried levitating just on my hands, and fell flat on my forehead. It hurt, and made Mrs. UF laugh. As for Sting, screw that Tantric windbag. And I will give Flopsie a kick for you, but only because Flopsie is a figment of my imagination.
Posted by: UF MIKE | January 11, 2012 at 02:13 PM
Your last word led me to discover this fabulist artist
http://unvershafipaintings.wordpress.com/category/acrylic-paintings/
Posted by: AnitaNH | January 11, 2012 at 03:01 PM
I really like "Back from Africa". And "Head" is pretty damn cool too. Thanks Anita for turning me on to him!
Posted by: UF MIKE | January 11, 2012 at 04:42 PM
Flopsie Crevasse....what a great name for a stripper.
Posted by: Bullethole | January 12, 2012 at 09:57 AM
That goes right up there with my personal favorite, Tawny Buttocks!
Posted by: UF MIKE | January 12, 2012 at 10:54 AM
My favorite will always be Krystal Knocked.
Posted by: Dave Mows Grass | January 12, 2012 at 09:34 PM