Don't you love farce?
My fault, I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want -
Sorry, my dear.
But where are the clowns?
There ought to be clowns.
Quick, send in the clowns.
Don't bother - they're here.
|Find image here|
I, personally, thank Freddy Krueger for lack of sleep through many of my childhood nights and I catch myself - even to this day - cursing that legendary dream-invader for still haunting certain regions of my memory.
My sister was just as impressionable in her youth, and after a run-in with Poltergeist, she quickly developed coulrophobia. (Although back then, we didn't know the technical term for it, so I just called her a sissy.)
In the traditional style of sisterly battles, I would jump at any chance that showed itself to feed her fear of clowns. I would hang them from a rope, upside-down, in her closets; set them up to watch her while she slept; and once, as she practiced "Send in the Clowns" on her flute for a music recital, I crawled around the bed she sat on, as she riffed her Sondheim tune, with clown doll in my hand and growling as it met her in mid-song. Her screams, of course, ruined the melody of the song and also cost me my phone privileges for a month.
But, my God, was it worth the win.
As we have grown - and somewhat matured - I still find myself in the lead.
Even if my sis did call me up to sing the Freddy Krueger theme song
using the most demonic, child-like voice;
when I was home alone;
in the middle of the night.
Yet, I still think I'm one up.
When you mail a decapitated clown to your sister - and she curses you out, on the brink of tears; then has to drive the doll to dispose of it at a fast food restaurant, because the thought of it sitting in her garbage all night is too much to bear.
Well, to quote Charlie Sheen: Winning!
<3 Love you, Sista! No grudges? I hope.