Send in the Clowns

This little clown smelling a fake rose sitting in the entrance of Buca di Beppo got me into a lot of trouble once. How could it possibly have done that? Well, let me back up say, two years ago. Before we bought our house jointly with my in-laws, I knew there would be some compromising that would need to be done by all parties involved. I knew that I would have to give up a lot of control, a lot of quiet, and a bit of privacy. I knew that we would need to mesh our belongings and deocrating tastes. I knew all of this. But one thing that I somehow overlooked was

THE CLOWNS.

Now, I am not one of those people who is terrified of clowns. I just don't like them. I think they're tacky. They're not funny, not even in the cirus, and especially not at birthday parties. Even worse than real clowns are the fake ones, the ones that are meant to be pretty, poignant, pensive, and peculiar. This clown is in the study. Somehow I find it the most menacing of all, with its outstretched arms and painted on tear.

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Turns out, as we moved in and began unpacking and arranging things, these clowns began creeping out of the woodwork. This clown dances a melancholy jig when you put a coin in the box.

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I love my in-laws very much. They are some of the most generous, friendly, warm people I have ever met. They have accepted me as their own son. But sons don't always share the same tastes as their parents, right? This clown straddles the floor lamp in the living room.

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This particular clown gazes blankly down upon me as I sleep each night.

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Wait a second. I guess I take that back about hating all clowns. This one I happen to love. Amelia, 4 years old, at Halloween. Giancarlo took this photo and gave it to me as a gift.


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And, I know the Lladros are exquisite and expensive, but they're not my style. I've actually learned how to co-exist with these two, as they've been watching me sadly for over ten years now.
So back to our little clown at the top of this post, the one at Buca di Beppo. This particular clown had been sitting in our garage ever since we had moved in, and Giancarlo was looking for a white elephant gift for a company Christmas party. The clown was perfect! The fact that it belonged to his mother didn't seem to matter to either of us. The party was being held at...where? Buca di Beppo, of course! The person who received this white elephant gift didn't even want to take it home, so they left it at the restaurant, and it blended in seamlessly.

After a few weeks, the whole incident was forgotten. Until Elsa returned and I was helping her rummage through some boxes in the garage and suddenly she froze in her tracks, eyes wide. I thought maybe she was having another heart episode, but then she said, "Y mis payasos? Donde estan mis payasos?" (And my clowns? Where are my clowns?)

I'm a terrible liar, and of course the truth of the whole sordid white elephant tale came spilling out before I knew what was happening. She was furious that Giancarlo had given away her clown, no less in a white elephant gift exchange, and that it it was so hideous that the recipient didn't even want it and left it behind at Buca di Beppo??!!!

Well, Giancarlo and his brother are ages 42 and 41. And they still are afraid to tell their parents the truth, and they still get in trouble. And they somehow expect me to be a co-conspirator, an accessory to their crimes.

That is precisely why, when Elsa chewed Giancarlo out for the clown incident and didn't speak to him for a day or two, I got in trouble with Giancarlo. I got a punishment of my own because I refused to take part in their lies and deception!

Ay, ay, ay. As Elsa says, "Estos Corsi!"