I asked my husband the other day, when I would grow up. At what moment, I would buzz, rattle and inflate, form a cocoon and emerge with all the secrets of life and all the knowledge required to raise children and appreciate the brussel sprout. He smiled at me, and chuckled in a way that lets me know that no matter how ridiculous I am, I am the most loved woman in the world. And with the look of a man who has all the answers, he said simply "Don't worry about it so much, the baby comes with a manual".
Now the physical logistics aside of how I would print a life manual, what if there was a manual? A set of rules and procedures that outlined how-to's on every conceivable situation. A hitchhiker's guide, if you will.
If we look at the things that come with manuals: electronics, appliances and the wonderful world of Ikea. How useful do we find the manuals that are included? Written by illiterate gnomes who haven't ever heard English and who all have PHDs in health and safety, half of the story is 101 ways this television, bed or coffee table will kill you. Fit stake A into death trap B until you hear a crack, find item C (not in the box) in order to make this item safe for consumption. Not that it will fulfil the purpose for which it was intended. Ever.
Maybe all our cars are Transformers. We just don't know how to activate them, because the secret is written in the telephone directory in the glove box, which doesn't open. However, find and push that button at your own peril. As your car transforms into a super quantum mechanical alien who will save the world… You will be crushed. You will have a really cool car. But there will only be bits and pieces of you left to appreciate it.
Six months ago, this was a fair trade off. Your new life as a Thing from the Addams Family riding on your Popularis Prime would've been satisfying every evening when you got into your Transformer-themed bed. Now, as you become a Transformer: Emergency Air Bag Boobs, Floatation Device Ankles and a Blackhole in your mid section (let's face it, THAT is the only way all that stuff fits in there), the cost seems too great and the benefit way too low.
Do we want to know the dangers? My life mate has a heart attack, a nervous twitch and stress spasms every time I get near a road. Busy intersections have caused him to hiccup in seizures of health & safety. The last thing I need is for him to know, truly know how much can honestly go wrong and how quickly (please refer to Page xxxiiilv in Chapter iiixvy-3 of the Life Manual). My civil liberties and freedoms would be severely impaired, I'm sure.
I know that I am slowly growing to be a parent. I have been censoring my blue verbs when stubbing my toe, which is f-ing f-unny and people look at you like, wtf a-hole? This is the first step in learning parent language, which includes such ground breaking techniques as S-P-E-L-L-I-N-G-I-T-O-U-T, Ear Muffs! and Ons praat die taal, want hy kannie verstaan nie. I don't even know when I started doing this. So, happily and with confidence, I'm throwing out the manual or being struck by enlightningment. I don't even care if brussel sprouts are good for me. All I know is that I will find all this out, one thing at a time, learning with my precious family.
No comments:
Post a Comment