Welcome to the Funny Farm by Karen Scalf Linamen Read Free Book Online Page B

walls will be forced to contend with the Curse of the Copulating Clutter.
    I know this sounds far-fetched, but I don’t know quite how else to explain the fact that every morning I wake to twice as much clutter as the night before. The stuff breeds during the midnight hours, I’m certain of it.
    What clutter-management techniques have I acquired? Well, sometimes, I try to recycle. Over the holidays, for example, I enlisted the artistic talents of friend Gavin Jones to craft a wire metal hanger into a hat from which a sprig of mistletoe could be hung four inches above the head of the wearer.
    But we were lucky. Not every unwanted household item can be recycled into something quite so useful.
    Which gives me an idea. I’ve always had a crush on Richard Dean Anderson in his role as MacGyver. I’m thinking they should produce a reunion show, and tape it at my house. Think of all the useful things MacGyver could invent from the clutter in my home. Why, put him in one room alone, and he could build a space shuttle. Or a minivan. Or best yet, something I could REALLY put to good use, like Rosie, the robotic maid from the Jetsons.
    But the tangible clutter in my home isn’t the worst of it. Old magazines, mugs featuring pictures of state capitals, a tray of bobbins belonging to the sewing machine I gave to Goodwill seven years ago—these things may be annoying, but they’re manageable.
    It’s the other clutter in my life that I can’t quite get a handle on, the stuff even MacGyver can’t touch. Stuff like bad habits and old hurts and painful memories, not to mention lingering lusts and dusty grudges and broken dreams.
    Stuff I should have gotten rid of a long time ago.
    Maybe I should forget Anderson’s Hollywood agents and put in a call to Someone who can REALLY help. There is, after all, a Master Recycler, someone who promises that he can take ALL things in my life and make them work out—somehow, if I let him—for good. His awesome lemons-into-lemonade abilities even prompted one Bible hero, Joseph, to look into the eyes of the brothers who betrayed him and admit, “What you meant for evil, God meant for good.”
    God doesn’t recycle overnight. Sometimes he takes years. But I’m realizing that he can’t even get started on my clutter until I unclench my fists and hand it over.
    What he’ll make of it all is up to him.
    I know it’s not very spiritual, but I’ll go ahead and say it anyway:
    I’m hoping for at least one Rosie out of the whole mess.

15

    Say Good-bye to Good Intentions
    I FINALLY DID IT.
    I thumbed through the phone book, found the number, dialed it, and made an appointment for two weeks from today.
    I’m going to see an electrologist.
    I’ve been meaning to make an appointment for months. Lots of months. Actually, dozens of them. But can you blame me for procrastinating?
    You’ve heard of electrolysis, right? It’s a way of getting rid of unwanted hair on your face and body. The way I understand it, I’m paying about a dollar a minute to have a certified technician stick a miniature cattle prod into my hair follicles, then turn to a hunchbacked assistant and shout the words, “Throw the switch!”
    I think it also has to be a stormy night.
    It’s a drastic measure, I know. But you’ll have to trust me when I say that I’m not taking this step lightly. I can either submit to these Mary-Shelleyesque electrical treatments, or I can continue resembling Wolfman Jack. It’s come down to this.
    Actually, I’ve been battling these two dozen annoying chin hairs for several years now. The final straw occurred this past weekend. We had friends coming over Sunday afternoon to watch a Cowboys game on TV, and I was in the bathroom getting ready, and . . . well . . . I nicked myself shaving.
    Not my leg, mind you. My face.
    I stemmed the bleeding with a twist of toilet paper and looked