I face a task with these entries that at times seems daunting, occasionally even insurmountable. Not only do I intend to rid myself of a lot of clutter with this blog, but I really genuinely want to make their send-off entertaining enough to make it worth reading.
And judging by the fact that in nine months, the only comments have been from myself, I would say that I am clearly failing in this task.
With that being said, I now feel a lot less guilty about the shit I’m about to type about this blue Avon elephant. For these are apparently akin to secret dirty letters to myself, and I can say what I please.
Right. For about three years, my dad sold Avon products. As a result, I have always been pissed off by those Avon commercials that simply reek of gender inequality. ‘Talk to your Avon lady’, they would say, ‘she’ll open up an amazing world of Avon’.
For the local residents at the dawn of the new millennium, their Avon lady was a man. And, funnily enough, he was the most successful Avon agent around, routinely topping the sales list with numbers that basically tripled the amount pulled in by the nearest competitor. For some unknown reason, my dad was able to sell cosmetics and perfumes like nobody’s business.
Maybe his cliental thought he was hot. I don’t really know, and I don’t really care. All I know is that we have a slew of Miss Albee commemorative dolls leering out of our antiques cabinet.
She’s my favourite, because as near as I can tell, she is the only trophy we have in our possession. At least, until I win an Emmy or something.
One of the nifty things about being the hellish spawn of an Avon agent was that I got to rake in the free products. I mean, I’m sure dad actually bought them; it wasn’t like these were shifty dealings in black market toy slave trade, but I always felt as though I had the inside track by being chummy with the direct line to an arsenal of products.
To get us started in this nostalgic farewell, I thought I would introduce you to this blue gaffer here. I’m fairly hit or miss with remembering their names, and in this case, I’ve struck out. The first name that leapt majestically to mind was Peanut, but alas, that’s the moniker of a Beanie Baby doppelganger.
Maybe it was Jumbo? Can’t be sure. And in today’s age of information and at least one person knowing enough about the most obscure things to lead someone to eventually read this stupid entry, I can’t afford to be wrong. So I’ll just invent a new name for him. He reminds me of the aforementioned Peanut, so henceforth, he shall be known throughout the land as Legume.
Treat him with the dignity and respect befitting a blue elephant plush named after a subterranean snack.
So I’m sure you’re all asking, ‘whatever is it that Legume can do for our people?’
Asking silently, in your heads, of course, because otherwise you’re talking to a computer screen, and I declare you as crazy folk.
The answer, put simply, is very little. He’s about as nondescript as a plush can possibly be, and he has lived a quiet, hermit-like existence in the closet for nearly fourteen years. And by that, I mean he has literally lived in the closet, I’m not saying that he’s gay.
Although he very well could be, couldn’t he? I don’t think I’ve ever had a gay toy before. I mean, Bugs Bunny has always seemed borderline, but I’m lacking in outwardly homosexual playthings. Which makes me feel rather uncultured, frankly.
As such, Legume now has the exciting distinction of becoming my first ever gay toy. I’m so very excited! With this, I figure his value should go up by 900%. I mean, that’s a moot point because I’m giving him away for free, but now this neglected elephant can become that valuable prized possession for somebody out there.
Now I can detail with glee the curious knot in his tail that I had originally disliked and painstakingly untied over the period of much fiddling, which seems like an awful lot of work to go into a toy you never intend to play with.
Allow me to also ponder; why are elephants often blue? I mean, I suppose blue is close to their true hue of grey, but if you’re going to truly choose an appropriate appearance (without adhering to the absence of fun and magic that is grey), you’d surely go with purple? Not deep sexy velvet purple, but that soft, lavender-esque purple that seems to be all the rage with towels these days.
But then, our mate Legume, he has orange feet at his behest, which completely throws some trickeration into the deal. I guess he doesn’t care at all about how much he resembles a real elephant. I can understand that; I don’t look like a real elephant either.
To his credit, he’s soft and lovable, and that ought to be enough to see him well when he goes onto the next step of life. Whether he goes into the loving, eager arms of little Suzie Whitner, the adorable little beacon of sunshine who treats her toys like best friends, or little Brutus Murdurur, serving eight consecutive life sentences, who truly just needed a plush elephant to set him straight.
Legume shall change lives. He is a beacon; a symbol, if you will, and all you need to do is figure out how he can help you.