If I died tomorrow and a stranger was asked to write my obituary based solely of the decorations in my cubicle, here’s what they’d have to work with:
- Photographs of ballroom dancers: 10 (9 International Standard/American Smooth, 1 Flamenco)
- Georgia O’Keefe vag-blossoms: 3
- Impressionist dance images: 2
- Cat worship: 6
- New Yorker Cartoons: 3 (number featuring cats: 2)
Based on this inventory, this person is:
- Obsessed with ballroom dancing. But not the popular stuff people like to watch on TV–no scantily clad females, waxed chests, day-glo skin, or Latin grimaces to be seen. No, we’re talking full-on
Fred Astaire snore-fest. Perhaps the single Flamenco photo indicates some Freudian repression.
- A crazy cat lady. This tragic soul has pictures of cats instead of pictures of kids. It’s no wonder we found her alone in her home, covered in fur and small tooth marks, with the furniture shredded and a feline-sized hole punched through the window screen.
- Yeah, totally repressed. Just look at those Georgia O’Keefe posies. We all know what they really are.
I hope nobody ever writes my obituary based on this sort of information. But if they did, they’d at least get the dance part of my life half-right.
Who am I kidding? They’d get the cat part of my life half-right too.
As for the posies, I know what you’re thinking. And for the record, I love Georgia O’Keefe. She’s originally from Wisconsin, like me. I love her painting. And it’s an easy way to get away with putting up titillating images at work.