Wednesday, August 13, 2008
“Words are only postage stamps delivering the object for you to unwrap”
-George Bernard Shaw
Mater has of late been renovating the kitchen. Wallpaper, cupboards, furniture and floor lining are being drastically torn out and replaced and I might perhaps not know the old homestead when next I travel.
I heard tell yesterday of the bright new furniture. Mater gushed the rehearsed profile all at once: "the chairs have black metal legs and backs; the cushion covers on the chairs are cream-and-terracotta check pads."
Well, one just might have to sit down after such an exhaustive verbal excursion.
I asked Mater, rather wickedly I admit, to repeat the statement, but her four attempts were futile. She descended into hysterics when the words got mingled and the description became one I could not recognise: 'black' turned to 'back;' 'legs' turned to 'begs' and the word 'leck' appeared from that great void of nowhere. The remainder was likewise suitably mangled.
I relish words, the pitfalls and entertainment they provide, the priceless combination one can invent on a whim, beginning with an object as simple as the leg of a chair.
Posted by Phyllis Hunt McGowan at 11:44 AM