That is why, no matter how desperate the predicament, I am always very much in earnest about clutching my cane, straightening my derby hat, and fixing my tie, even though I have just landed on my head. (Charlie Chaplin)
Do you ever find yourself in an “unpleasant or confusing situation that is difficult to get out of”? More often than not, you say?? As I overheard my husband on the phone this morning, seeking to deal with this very thing, I vacillated between being irate and amused. Since I was on my way to the doctor and didn’t want my blood pressure to be up, I chose to be amused.
There are several ways out of these situations or predicaments in which we frequently find ourselves, some funny, others highly creative, some pretty lame. My husband’s way of extricating himself was that of “stretching the truth” (my mother’s infamous way of “never telling a lie”). I thought it to be highly inventive since it created a whole new reality of which I had been unaware.
I have recently discovered, quite by accident, a new way of getting out of a predicament, and it has quickly become my favorite: as I sit there in my cozy little predicament, instead of frantically searching about in my empty noggin for lame excuses, lies, or even painful truth, I simply shift my attention to what might be on sale at Bed, Bath, and Beyond that day, or whether Target’s dog food is cheaper than Walmart’s, or whether leftovers would do for dinner again . . . It gives me that wonderfully obscure (or perhaps spacy) look, so difficult to read that any others involved are distracted from their point and/or the issue at hand (at least in my imagination).
All of which made me wonder just how much of history as we know it is just such a conglomeration of half-truths, myths, funny stories, sorry excuses, or flights of fancy, employed over the eons to extricate ourselves from predicaments.
Which in itself was such a disturbing thought (a predicament!) that I immediately began thinking of the lavender fields in Provence and wondering how the summer harvest went.
Or, as the French would say, Ah, la vache!