March 31, 2004

• eFairy, and....

  
  

   

  
  

  You know, of course, about Pippi Longstocking, that bewitching (anti)heroine of Astrid Lindgren’s who lives all by herself in a ramshackle house with her horse and her monkey and makes the lives of the all-too-ordinary kids-next-door a joy and an astonishment from morning ‘til night.

  
  

   

  
  

  Well, in case you haven’t yet realized it, Xanga has its own Pippi, right here.  eFairy defies description.  Let's just say:  you walk into a room and pick up a globe.  It's upside down.  You look at the two legs of Australia, waving in the air, and wonder to yourself:  "Why is  North "up"?"  That's sort of what eFairy does to the unsuspecting surfer.

  
  

   

  
  

  The thing about eFairy is that her blogs can run from Tupperware sales (you're thinking:  okay, I get the score here) to a riveting and wrenching personal tale of astounding survival in the midst of abuse (you're holding back the tears) to a laugh-a-minute expose of her mother, "Captain Insano," and the latter's oblivious but eternal intent to off her dangerously allergic grandson by proffering peanuts (you're laughing and sobbing) to an invitation to participate in an art contest.  By the time you're done reading, you're ready to close down Xanga for the day, because, by gosh, you've already run the entire gamut of human emotion and have no more reading time left.

  
  

   

  
  

  So check her out if you haven't yet.  She's not everyone's cup of tea, but boy, can she make tea! 

  
  

   

  
  

  And since I promised her a laugh (how could I have had such hubris?) here's an eFairy-like offering of my own.  This is my own tale (true; happened last night) and as is seldom the case, it's actually bordering on eFairy-like NewsOfTheWeird-type humor, so without further ado:

  
  

   

  
  

  ....The Green Cheerio

  
  

   

  
  

  My eldest, who's downed her spinach-and-potato soup with remarkable calm and is now proceeding slowly to the sweeter portions of dinner, pokes around on the kitchen counter.  "Mom - what's this?"

  
  

   

  
  

  I'm at the sink scrubbing another sticky pot, up to my arms in suds, and grumpy.  I squint.  It looks like a green Cheerio.  "It looks like a green Cheerio," I say.  I go back to the pot, then look back up.  There are no multicolored Cheerios in my house.  "Don't eat it," I advise.  I'm still not making a move to actually inspect it, but further squinting reveals a somewhat rubbery appearance.  "Go ask Daddy," I suggest.  In a home on a farm, after all, the oddest things turn up on kitchen counters.  A washer, perhaps?

  
  

   

  
  

  The eldest slides down from her stool and trots into the livingroom, green Cheerio in tow.  I hear her imperious little voice.  I hear my husband's hesitating return, in that well-known tone of the adult in an awkward moment.

  
  

   

  
  

  "It's -- it's a band ," he says slowly, "to put around the scrotum of a little lamb or goat so -- so it can't make babies." 

  
  

   

  
  

  I am laughing, and running water, and miss a few lines, but I think I hear Ms. Imperious asking, astounded:  "And his penis falls off ?!"

  
  

   

  
  

  She returns.  "It's something to keep little boys from being Daddies," she announces matter-of-factly.  She plunks down the green castrator and picks up her spoon.  "Can I have more yoghurt, Mom?"

  
  

   

  
  

  Go read eFairy.  She's way better than this!

  • 11:23 am
  • 22 Comments