Sunday, August 26, 2007

The Feral Child and the Tragic Bathroom: A Tragic Opera in 27 Tragic Parts, Each Part Lasting At Least An Hour Or So, If Not Longer

It could be the next Ring Cycle. Only better and longer.

The main plot point would be a thorough, operatic explanation of what happened to said feral child this morning when she whacked her head on some hard surface in her bathroom and bruised her tailbone on another, equally hard surface.

Obviously, something is wrong with the feral child. Luckily she already knows what is wrong with her so she doesn't have to sit around wondering whether or not she has a brain tumor. Getting all clammy and dizzy then passing out is just the feral child's body's special way of telling her she is allergic to something. The way she is allergic to ibuprofin. (And let me tell you, if the feral child weren't very, very allergic to iboprofin, she would be reaching for some this very moment to quell the pain of her bruised tailbone.)

So what exactly is the feral child allergic to this time around? Was it the "Neptune" salad replete with imitation crab meat and delicious Thousand Island dressing that she ate last night before going to bed? Or is the feral child allergic to only getting one hour of sleep the night before despite being in bed at an extremely reasonable hour? The little red numbers on the clock just kept taunting her. The clock will probably have a few arias to itself during some of the 27 tragic acts of the tragic opera.

Really I think we can all agree that it is a real tragedy when you find yourself whimpering softly as you lay your clammy cheek against the bathroom floor because the linoleum feels so nice and cool. I mean, if you're going to feel like that you might as well have spent the last 48 hours engaged in heavy substance abuse. And by substance I don't mean "Neptune" salad either.

But as for the opera.

Basically, the 27 tragic acts of the tragic opera would center around the figure of the Feral Child (albeit all grown up) and the awful events that transpire in her bathroom one morning when all she is trying to do is get ready for work. (Maybe she could wear a cute little headband with cute little gray wolf ears to indicate her heritage.)

The opera would also touch on the aftermath of such events. For example, some drama might ensue over the fact that there don't seem to be any soft, comfortable chairs around the house. I mean, for goodness sake, the feral child has just bruised her tailbone! The only sitting devices available seem to be those colorful, but bare-bones wooden structures known as 'Stefan' that everyone seems to have 3 or 4 of because they are only $19.99 each at Ikea.

I would, of course, play the feral child. Although I would like to take this opportunity to stress that although I know the feral child (and share some important similarities with her), we are not the same person. Just forget all that I said in the wolves post. I was really just talking about her.

I think Anna Netrebko should play my roommate. This way I would not be overshadowed by the supporting cast, in beauty or talent. Some of the libretto might go like this--

Me / the Feral Child: My ass hurts! A la la!! Where have all the softly cushioned chairs absconded to??

Anna Netrebko / the Roommate: I am pretty sure we burned them all for fuel last winter when the heater broke! A la lei!!


Anna Netrebko / the Roommate: It is so nice and cute of your expensive and pampered cat, Gerard Butler, to snuggle with you while you are icing your bruised tailbone!

That is great, is it not?

Really, if the feral child were still living with wolves, as she used to, she would not be making such a huge fuss about her bruised tailbone. She would just crawl into some dank, mossy lair and die until she felt better. See what being human does to you...

As for you, please stop paying attention to my adorable cat, Gerard Butler, or to my mildly attractive co-star, Anna Netrebko. Look at me instead! I am such a poor waif.

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