Okay, so you know when you’re little and you get your heart broken for the first time and every adult from here til China feels the need to use some random, metaphoric image in an attempt to try and convince you of some naively, optimistic worldview in the most patronizing way humanly possible? Yeah, now remember when you used to believe it without any doubt as to the validity of their words and held fast to the prospects of pure joy they seemed to ensure were coming your way?
The truth is, when we’re younger the promise that “there is a lid for every pot” is reassuring. As if, being comparable to cold, black metal is somehow a remedy for the feelings of inadequacy that inevitably accompany that cold, hard rejection. I guess, in our childish minds, we are still capable of believing in that mythical, alternate reality, in which everything works out just perfectly and fairytale endings happen on a daily basis.
Of course, when we get older, we are no longer privileged enough to take solace in these sorts of fantasies and instead find ourselves staring into the face of a reality that is wrought with countless flaws and disappointments that seem to stem off of the empty promises of youth. I mean, seriously, it’s almost comical to remember that eager little girl who picked out wedding dresses and horse drawn carriages with a heart brimming with hope that a soul mate was just waiting in the distance to sweep her off her feet and whisk her away into the sunset.
Alright, so I’m not saying that I’m totally against the idea of there being a match for everyone (I mean, get real, I am a romantic after all). Sure, it may very well be that every pot has a lid somewhere out there, my problem lies in the fact that there are some pots that seem able to make ANY lid fit and others that are so damn abnormal they can’t find a lid that even appears like a match.
You know what I mean. Like, that one pot, that you continuously start cooking in, only to discover that when it comes time to put a lid on, you tear through the drawers until you are forced to accept the fact that there is not a single lid that will work and the contents of the meal are burned to a crisp or boiled away or something else that leave a total and utter mess. Hell! What are we supposed to do with those pots?
I mean, in all actuality, a pot like that ends up with other junk, on its way to a garbage dump or, if it’s lucky, a garage sale (where, of course, in the Disney/Pixar version it will inevitably meet the lid of its dreams and live happily ever after in romantic heaven). However, if you haven’t caught on, this isn’t just about actual pots, and the unmatched people of the world can’t simply be carted off into oblivion (even if it often seems as if we are) Nope, those of us pots who have yet to find even a potential lid, one that doesn’t constantly fall inside the pot or looks like a freaking culinary circus tent, are instead subjected to watch our insides boil away as we wait wistfully for the chef to find the right lid before we have absolutely nothing left.
Dismal, yes, but I suppose it isn’t hopeless. Seriously, I guess when it comes down to it, those stupid sayings we reflect on and tear apart are still ingrained inside of us. True, we don’t want to believe in the silly ideals that were spoon-fed to us as children, when we looked out into the world and saw a place of magic and wonder and possibilities. But, time after time, even in the darkest of days, we still draw upon that childish hope and rely on it heavily. In the end, even those of us @*#$%&! abnormal pots want to believe that there is a lid out there waiting for us, and refuse to give up on that childhood image of perfect pairs and happy endings. XOXO
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I'll be your lid
ReplyDeleteAww thanks :)
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