Anybody know what this thing is supposed to be?
My husband, Frank, and I got it shortly after moving to the Boston area. Having installed our new dining table, we figured we should adorn the surface with a vase or bowl or something. So we went to HomeGoods and came back with this . . . item.
Its time atop the table was short-lived, though, on account of how the object looks like a gaping golden anus. And I mean, sure, we’re gay and all, but that doesn’t mean we have to display an idol of a stretched-out hole in our living space.
When you enter our apartment the table is straight ahead, so this thing would be staring right at you, like some sort of powerful, malevolent force threatening to swallow you into who knows what depths of evil. I took to calling it the Butthole of Sauron, after the fire-rimmed Eye of Sauron in The Lord of the Rings.
Eventually we relocated the Hole to the bar cart, which occupies a less conspicuous spot in a corner not far from the table. We figure the golden disk’s ridged surface and infernal aperture look less obscene when partially obscured by liquor bottles.
I would have been fine with relocating the Hole to the garbage, but Frank wouldn’t go for that. He doesn’t like the item any more than I do, but he disapproves of discarding perfectly good décor just because it’s hideous. That would be wasteful, you see. Think of all the starving children who don’t have access to HomeGoods and its stock of seasonal throw pillows and golden anuses at discount prices.
Don’t ask me why we bought the thing in the first place. HomeGoods seems to bring on the kind of temporary insanity that certain murderers describe. Dazed and filled with remorse in the horrific aftermath, you’re liable to have trouble piecing together what happened. One minute everything was fine, you’ll mutter to yourself, but I must have snapped because the next thing I know I’m holding this weathered wooden sign reading, “It’s Wine o’Clock”—DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, WHAT HAVE I DONE??
As for the dining table, it’s now decorated with an alabaster bowl we bought during our trip to Egypt. At a shop somewhere (I want to say it was in Luxor), a craftsman explained to us at great length how to distinguish real alabaster from the fake stuff. The test had something to do with translucence and weight.
As in all situations where someone with purported artisanal knowledge speaks authoritatively, we were instantly persuaded to adopt whatever benchmarks the craftsman endorsed as if they were self-evident and sacrosanct. The man could have known less about alabaster than I did, but he had a workshop and a spiel about gypsum veining so our trust was boundless.
Our souvenir budget was not, however, and his prices felt inflated, so we settled instead for a more affordable alabaster bowl at a fair-trade store in Cairo. I have no idea whether the material is the genuine article or not, but then, once the spell of the Luxor artisan had been broken, I realized that I don’t actually care.
After all, Frank and I have been known to buy gaping golden buttholes. How high are our retail standards really?
Indirect Objects 