Tuesday, February 5, 2013

The Remedy for Your February Depression: A Happy Story About Sylvia Plath and Ovens

If you assume that I just wrote this story so that I could use this pic of Daniel Craig, then you are correct.


February is here! And you know what that means? Valentine's Day! Heart-shaped boxes of chocolate! Calling my mom on her birthday because I forgot to get a card again!

And depression. Because OH MY GOD, shut up, winter. Nobody likes you.

That is why I'm once again writing the happiest, cheerfullest, jolliest, blissfullest, least-depressingest story of all time to help you all not kill yourselves.

Here it is.


Sylvia Plath Puts Her Head in the Oven

Once upon a time, Sylvia Plath put her head in the oven. I know that sounds exactly the opposite of jolly and blissful, but she had a completely innocent reason for putting her head into an oven. And this Sylvia Plath was not the famous Sylvia Plath that you might know for her writing or untimely oven death. This was an entirely different Sylvia Plath and you can tell them apart in several important ways. First of all, the Sylvia Plath in this story has never been portrayed by Gwyneth Paltrow in a movie. Secondly, she had never written a book called The Bell Jar in her lifetime. And thirdly, this Sylvia Plath had a sparkling and jolly personality. The type that psychologists would never diagnose with depression. The fact that two women who are polar opposites share the same name is merely a coincidence.

The reason that the Sylvia Plath in our story put her head in the oven was that she was baking cookies and wanted to see if they were done. Now, you and I both know that you don't have to put your whole head into an oven to see if cookies are baked. Most people might remove the baking sheet from the oven, examine the cookies, and then either set them aside to cool or put them back into the oven for more baking. But this Sylvia Plath was not very smart. So it was lucky that her friend Virginia Woolf was coming over to visit and had much more experience in baking.

Now, I know what you're thinking, and don't worry. This Sylvia Plath's friend wasn't the famous writer Virginia Woolf who drowned herself by walking into a river because she was really depressed. This is an entirely different Virginia Woolf. You can tell because there are several differences between this Virginia Woolf and the famous writer. The first difference is that this Virginia Woolf was never portrayed by Nicole Kidman in a movie. The second is that she never wrote a book called Mrs. Dalloway in her lifetime. The third is that she always wore flotation devices everywhere she went because she hated drowning.

So, Virginia Woolf who was not THE Virginia Woolf arrived at Sylvia Plath who was not THE Sylvia Plath's house just in time to catch her putting her head in the oven. That's where the story really begins. And in retrospect not naming two exceedingly happy characters the same names as two famously depressed and suicidal writers would have saved me a a lot of explanation, but it's too late to turn back now.

"What are you doing?" Virginia Woolf asked, merrily.

"Checking on my cookies!" Sylvia Plath responded, pleasantly.

"Well, why don't you just pull them out of the oven using an oven mitt?" chortled Virginia Woolf.

"I can't believe I didn't think of that!" giggled Sylvia Plath.

"I'm glad I stopped by just in time then," sing-songed Virginia Woolf.

"Me too!" replied Sylvia Plath, with an extremely jolly twinkle in her eye. "You're just in time for a cookie because these are done!"

And then the two friends sat at the table and gossiped for the next hour, eating cookies in the least-depressing manner possible. They both lived to be 100 and remained the best friends ever.

THE END

2 comments:

peach said...

You didn't say what kind of cookies, and the idea that they might be macaroons is making me want to kill myself....

The Honorable Mayor of Bethville said...

Shaddup, they were shortbread.