Pickle Forks and Hilarity

A few weeks ago at work I made up a new word: hilarical. It’s derived from the words “hilarious” and “hysterical”. It slipped off of my rushed, frazzled tongue.  I pondered the possibility that it fell out during a rare moment of genius, and that it had hidden meaning yearning to be discovered. Indeed, it does.

The word “hilarical” captures the essence of present and future emotions resulting from an event. The event triggers hysteria in the present, that is, defined: uncontrollably emotional; irrational from fear, emotion or an emotional shock. Years down the road, the event will incite hilarity. Years down the road is key.

A few years ago, my friend Becky and I ran across this greeting card at The Emporium in Keystone.

We broke out into a deeply sympathetic laugh; we empathized with the insanity of this poor gray-haired lady who desperately just wants to have something she can call her own.

Years ago, I hosted a baby shower for my sister. Minutes before guests started to arrive, I scrambled to gather my last few serving pieces. For the life of me, I could not find my coffee carafe, thinking maybe I had gone mad believing I owned one in the first place. While tearing through cabinets, my brilliant husband thought to ask my youngest daughter, who, since able to walk, has spent her free time gathering household items - silverware, dirty socks, toothpaste, clean underwear, tape, band-aids, in bags – really, about ten bags full at any given time. “Maddy, have you seen the coffee server?”  “Oh yes, I was playing restaurant with it”. The great thing about Maddy is that she does know where to find things in her cache.  She is growing out of the bag-collecting stage, but Bud and I and Megan still fear she will become one of those hoarders on TLC. Assuming she doesn’t, which otherwise will be very sad and disturbing, this incident is hilarical - causing hysteria now; hilarity, later.

In case you are still not getting this…

Over the course of the last six months, I have lost 3 belts, 6 pairs of earrings, and purchased 4 new powder brushes, 5 bottles of mascara, 4 hair picks and 2 eyelash curlers to replace the ones missing from my bathroom every morning like Groundhog Day. Hilarical captures the emotion of hysteria when I’m trying to get ready: out-of-my mind crazy, desperate for a time and place where I might be able to purchase my own things, with money I work for, and find them again 24 hours later, for their intended use. It’s the same thing every day; with half of my painted face on I begin a household scavenger hunt; begging those who live here to use my own possessions. The funny thing is; it’s really sheer stupidity on my part that I continue to replace my missing beauty widgets, expecting a different result. The hilarious part, I suspect, will come many years later, when all of my things stay nice and neat in one spot, and I reminisce about supplying the household divas as well as their diva friends with products necessary for everyday boy-attracting.

Perhaps you are one of those mothers who are smart enough and industrial and diligent enough to track all of your belongings, and apply proper discipline to anyone who gets anything out of order. You buy, care for, categorize, store, label, protect, and successfully retrieve your widgets within moments, while keeping your kids under control. While I do think this is all a little show-offy, I congratulate you in a green-with-envy sort of way. If I were nice, I would tell you that you are, however, missing out the high that comes from swearing incessantly while scouring the house for your pickle fork, and the hilarity that will come years later when you reminisce about the hunt, and then, actually find it.---alg

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