Do you remember the strife that once engulfed this household? Oh yes, I mean the Lava Lamp Wars. If you don't remember the details of the Lava Lamp Wars, you can catch up here, here, here, and last but not least...here. For those of you who do not feel like reading four posts to catch up, here is the basic gist of the problem. Matt owns a relic of a lava lamp.
He insists that it is a piece we should hang on to, and if it weren't for one little fact I would be more than willing to allow it to stay in the basement. But that ONE LITTLE FACT is that the thing doesn't work. I said...it needs to go. He said...no. I hid the lava lamp in the laundry room. He found it. He put it on my pillow.
I hid the lava lamp again. He found it. He tucked it into bed with me and took pictures of me sleeping with the enemy...
When we were moving to the new house, I asked Matt if he really wanted to bring it along (because it is HIS lamp, I am not actually mean enough to throw it away). He agreed to erm...dispose...of the lamp on one condition. That condition being that he be allowed to write a farewell post here on Country Mouse. I agreed. I WAY underestimated the evil genius that is my husband.
Without further ado....Matt's farewell post, told from the view of the lamp. Oh..the "she-devil" referred in the post is none other than me, Bekah.
I prefer to remember nights as they were, nights when I would proudly sit on the window sill of Matt's apartment. There I stood so sturdy, so straight, yet so fluid. Those were peaceful nights. He would stare at me until he fell asleep as one stares at a camp fire in the cool, late-summer nights.
I also remember the dark days in the laundry room. Shunned from the power outlets. Shunned from the windows. Shunned from Matt's gaze. I remember her face...her devious smirk. I still carry her scars on my glass. Oh how I wish I could rub off those dirty prints from her long fingers; the same fingers that shoved me under the bed between hundreds of other possessions she deemed useless.
But where was my keeper? Had he forgotten me? Has lack of sight driven me from his mind?
I hear muffled noises. It sounds like something heavy is being stacked nearby. It reminds me of my birth at the factory. They stuffed me in a box and shipped me along with my brothers and sisters to a raunchy, disgusting hole in the earth... Spencer's Gifts. There I was stowed away amongst whorish items and suggestive gift cards.
Just as it was when Matt first let me free from my cardboard and Styrofoam cage, he freed me from underneath the bed. As the temptress lay silent he placed me next to her for revenge. My stillness frightened her as she opened her eyes. She was truly ashamed of me. Her icy stare was so distant from the heat which the bulb used to bring from my base.
Where was my base? Legend has it the she-devil dumped it into the green box outside of the apartment. Without my base, I began to weaken. The coils tucked inside my wax began to rust and crumble. I was growing old.
Matt, being the loyal master as always, did not let me die a shameless death without a base. Instead he aided me in a painless, quick death like the ways of the old samurai. He poured the liquid out of me and placed me gently into the dark, cold floor of the dumpster. There I lay and breathed my last breath. As I exhaled I heard Matt walk away to the faint sounds of a far-off trumpet playing taps...
And now...the moment we have all been waiting for...