Day 692: Tuesday and the Purple Crayon

Before I begin, I wish to state that I should know better.  I really should.  I mean, why on earth would I expect that the natives would refrain from using artistic media on anything other than the intended substrate?  Why on earth would they do anything I have asked them to do, several hundreds of thousands of times over?  And after nearly 700 days of observation (yes, I’ve been keeping track all this time) you’d think I’d know better than to leave them to their devices.  Well, at least, leaving Tuesday to her devices.  In another room.  With a crayon.  A purple crayon.

For the record, I was not aware of the whereabouts of the media in question.  At last check, the purple crayon had been confiscated after the last offense where its use was employed.  So, either the native has developed other skills that I am not aware of, or said purple crayon was given back to the native by the tribal leader or elder.  Whatever the case may be and the circumstances surrounding the native acquiring the writing instrument, it found its way back into the crime circuit at the tribal abode.

As an aside, I am perplexed – no, I’m frigging dumbfounded as to why the natives cannot stand to use art materials traditionally.  That is, using traditional materials (crayons, pencils, markers, etc.) on some type of traditional substrate ( paper, cardboard, books designated for coloring, etc.)  Further, I am truly baffled by the native’s, particularly Wednesday, use of food as an artistic medium.  Yes, food.  Just yesterday, I needed to talk to the tribal elders by telephone and in order that I could hear said elders, I was required to retire to a different room, and barricade the door so that the heathen natives could not gain entry.  The phone call itself was brief; approximately under five to ten minutes.  However, this time – this brief period of absence from the food preparation area was enough for Wednesday to make her move.  Wednesday, using her developing ninja skills, climbed into her elder sibling’s adjustable seating apparatus and began to (I’m assuming) eat Tuesday’s partially eaten cereal and milk.  I say “I assume” because when I returned to the food preparation area, there was Wednesday, sitting at the communal eating surface, a smile from ear to ear, hands raised, dripping with chocolate milk (the cereal was chocolate and peanut butter flavored) and proudly acknowledging my presence with a “Hi, Daddy!”  Wonderful.  Fan-fucking-tabulous.  The communal eating surface had become her canvas and she had covered most of it within her wheelhouse with the chocolate milk substance.  Including the adjustable seating apparatus.  And the floor.  And her face.  Sigh.  And to add irony to this artist episode, Wednesday, at the slightest bit of mess on her hands, regularly requests a napkin or other cloth to wipe her hands because she cannot stand to have hands that are dirty.  Yeah.  Go figure.

So, I don’t get it.  I just don’t get it.  Which leads me to today’s episode with Tuesday and the purple crayon.  As I’ve said, I was unaware that the purple crayon was at all accessible by the natives.  I was working away at the communal eating surface whilst the natives were being entertained by the electronic media box, or so I thought.  After a bit of time, Tuesday came running into the food preparation area and that’s when I noticed her.  Seen below, it appears that Tuesday was experimenting with purple crayon as a form of warpaint.

photo-37My first reaction was to extract from the native what the hell she was attempting to do, figuring that the explanation would be entertaining at the least.

Me: Tuesday, why did you do this to yourself?

Tuesday: Purple crayon….(unintelligible)

Me:  Why did you do this with the purple crayon?

Tuesday: (Fidgeting and more unintelligible gibberish – something about not being able to write in the notebook)

Determining that this line of questioning was not going to get the desired results, I determined that it was time to clean the native up, AFTER properly documenting the occasion.  I also disarmed the native of the purple crayon and returned it to its place on the window sill above the sink in the food preparation area.

So, I should know better.  I really should.  For every step I take to prevent episodes like this from happening, I find myself another two steps back as the natives show me the amazing and wonderous options in art making.


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