Monday, June 14, 2021

Trouble on the Domestic Front

 It has to be admitted things have been a little ah, tense in Chez MacPherson in recent times.  Last Saturday I stumbled out of bed to find my stuffed platypus suspended by its tail from the ceiling.  There were signs of abuse.  My puffin and plague doctor denied all responsibility and suggested that the platypus must have walked in its sleep.  I think it is fair to say that the integration of the platypus into my household has not been without its challenges.

The puffin is outraged that another egg laying water dweller has been introduced into the home without prior consultation and the plague doctor simply refuses to believe that it is real and claims that components from a variety of stuffed animals have been stitched together to fool the gullible.  When the plague doctor produced his surgical instruments in an attempt to prove his assertions I decided the time had come for action.

"Guys, I think we need counselling," I announced.  The response was swift and unanimous.

"I don't need counselling, they do" issued from the mouths of all three of them pretty much simultaneously.  Having reached a rare note of agreement I cast about for a professional to assist us.  I take full responsibility for what happened next.  In retrospect it was rather silly of me to get my tech support to recommend a guidance counsellor.  Apparently his usual line of business is negotiating truces in gang wars and interrogating the odd journalist for the Belarusian government.

The counsellor's methods of treatment were, shall we say, unorthodox (although they may be typical in Belarus).  Once the dust (and the stuffing) had settled none of us was in any condition to take aggressive action against the others.  My puffin was trembling in a corner whimpering gently, the plague doctor was being talked out of suicide by the platypus which had lost half of its fur and had a wild gleam in its glassy eyes.  As for me the counsellor had some sage words of advice.

"Treat them brutally," he advised.  "Be harsh and pitiless and make their lives a living hell.  Be the grim, dark lord they despise and fear.  Unite them against you and they will get along fine."

"Interesting advice," I acknowledged removing a tooth he had loosened in one of his therapy sessions.  "Does this work with your professional practice in Belarus?"

"Oh I'm not a guidance counsellor in Belarus?" he replied.

"What do you do?"

"I'm a kindergarten teacher.  And to answer your question, yes the advice works perfectly."

His methods may be controversial but it has to be admitted they worked.  Since that time we have lived in perfect harmony the occasion fit of hysterical tears and random acts of self harm notwithstanding.  Should a dispute arise I merely have to suggest another guidance session to reduce everyone to a state of terrified silence.

I have however learned my lesson.  It is time for my to get over my newly acquired obssession with plush toys.  After all I'm not a thirteen year old girl anymore.  Indeed some claim I never was.

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