Shaun, as you’ve probably grown to realize over the span of our relationship, I’m a woman of action and a woman of priorities; someone who’s not afraid of confronting things head-on and dealing with them as effectively as possible. This is why I think it’s imperative that we postpone our conversation about my arguably ‘excessive’ drinking habits in favour of addressing the adult African elephant currently stomping around in our living room.
How did a full-grown tusked mammal get to be inside our third-floor apartment? I don’t know, Shaun. How did that half a bottle of chardonnay I had left in the fridge last week end up empty in the recycling bin? Did some magical breeze just blow in here, whimsically pull out the cork, consume the wine, and then neatly plop the bottle into the correct bin? Maybe it was the same magical breeze that swept an elephant off its feet and into our living room.
No, I’m not using the elephant as an excuse to avoid having an honest conversation with you. I promise. I can understand why you might think that, but I’m genuinely more concerned about dealing with the animal that is currently occupying one of the four rooms in our apartment. It just seems like a more pressing issue than listening to you overreact about how much alcohol I consume on a weekly basis.
Sorry, that was a bit defensive. Honestly, I’m worried that at any moment now, that elephant is going to start getting anxious about being indoors and it’s going to knock something over, like that vase your mother lent me. If I have to give your mother’s vase back to her in little pieces, then we’ll have two trampling elephants to deal with.
As soon as I started saying that last part, I immediately regretted it. I’m sorry, Shaun. Again. Your mother’s not an elephant. But you know who is an elephant? That elephant in our living room.
Is there someone we could phone who could maybe help us deal with this? What good would a therapist possibly. . . oh goddamn it, for the elephant, Shaun. I’m talking about calling someone to help us with the seven-and-a-half ton Loxodonta africana undoubtedly tracking dirt all over our new carpet and probably destroying any chance we ever had at getting our damage deposit back. Unless you think the elephant has a drinking problem too, in which case maybe we should contact a therapist. Would that make you happy?
Okay, here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to call animal control and tell them what our situation is. Maybe get them to send someone over, like a circus trainer. Shaun, I need you to find a way to get past the elephant without getting stomped to death, make your way into the kitchen, and get the Kraken rum that’s in the freezer. Why do you have to be the one to risk your life? Because of the two people in this room, you’re the one that seems fixated on ignoring any elephants presently inhabiting our apartment.
Okay, okay, never mind, forget about the Kraken. It’s fine. I keep a backup mickey of butterscotch Schnapps in the nightstand for emergencies anyways.
Now, what were we talking about before all of this elephant business came up?
