There are ever more and more figures of speech I hear thrown around from time to time, but from my throne I only hear just a few and regard even fewer of them still. You know how it is, a pound of advice is only worth an ounce of experience so, for me, my ounce this week came in the form of being magnetically locked in a glass house and I now better understand at least, at most and at worstedly best one of these so-called Figaro’s of speech.
I’ve always heard that people in glass houses should never stow thrones, but I never understood it. First off, what’s a glass house, then what does “stow” mean, and while we’re at it, let’s tack on the question of what the heck a throne might be?
It’s all very confusing in abstract form, but once it got real to me, too very real at that, I got the message and (my parents took) the picture. I get it, it’s no fun.
The metaphorical “glass house” is a deep, convoluted, metaphorical sort of pseudo-place. It’s one from which those who have some shortcoming are made painfully clear. Apparently people who live in these sorts of transparent cubicles of dwellery are inherently predisposed to stowing all sorts of things from shower gel to shaving cream to leave-in conditioner… to thrones. People in Glass Houses stow thrones.
I can’t speak for why (or much coherently speak) but I know this much to be true, even as strange as it may sound.
But it’s no fun, I swear it. I even said “no ,no!” which is as strong a verbiage as I’m able to muster in evidence of dissatisfaction… just give me a year, I’ll step up my game.
I have learned to have (and hold) two new beliefs. First, people in glass houses should not stow thrones, and secondly, that I don’t want to play in the shower stall anymore. It’s more confining and less fun than it looked when I came up with the idea, which was my mistake.