Harper’s Other Dad and I drove down to Tucson recently. It is about 130 miles southeast of Casa de Harper. That’s 210 kilometers for those who roll metric. A theater company down there was doing a play I wanted to see and it seemed like a good excuse for a road trip. We’d planned to meet a couple of other bloggers for dinner but, unfortunately, those plans fell through.
They say; “when a door closes, a window opens”. I regarded it as an omen that the local Humane Society operates a thrift store a few doors down from the performance space. We had some time to kill before the show and the proceeds go to a cause we try to support. Harper was a Humane Society rescue.
Harper’s Other Dad found a shirt he liked but it was too big. He left it for the next shopper to discover. I found a couple of additions to the holiday stuffed animal collection.
I came around a corner and found an entire shelf
infested with tastefully displaying tchotchkes, gewgaws and other ornaments in the images of clowns. There must a name for that; ‘clownoiserie’?
Respect for diversity demands that I pause here to acknowledge that some wonderfully caring and delightful people find joy in collecting clowns. Also, clowns have a long and rich history of bringing joy to ‘children of all ages’ and, I’m sure, the overwhelming majority of people who dress as clowns do so in the spirit of happiness. All that said, clowns creep me out.
I am not sure a have coulrophobia, an irrational fear of clowns, but I find them sinister and unsettling. I am fairly certain some of the clowns on that shelf had been moving around before I turned the corner. And, while they try to hide it, I could tell from their expressions they’d been plotting evil doings. It isn’t that I would find them unattractive as objects d’art in our home. I would just be afraid to leave Harper alone with them.
In the end, the holiday stuffed animals left with us we left a few dollars with the Human Society. The will put it to good use to help the animals. This is especially important as we enter the desert summer. We put our finds in the car and went on the play.
I left the clowns where I found them. As I left the area I am pretty sure I heard them humming Jethro Tull’s Aqualung. Maybe I imagined the humming but they were certainly ‘eyeing me with bad intent’. That is for darn sure.