I have a giant giraffe in my living room! I only wish it was real so I could open the door and set it free. Or even better I could lay down in its path so that it could trample me to death. Then, I would not have to live in its tacky presence.

To be fair, my brother in law has given us beautiful vases and pictures to hang in our living room over the years. But there begs a time when one has to ask themselves, am I a bit invasive with my house gifts? Sure it is beautifully handcrafted from basswood and neatly airbrushed but I have a giant giraffe in my living room! The only way my brother in law could become more intrusive would be for him to present this gift wearing assless chaps with giraffe faced pasties across his bare chest.

To make matters worse my wife thinks it is cute. Whatever she saw in me is now suspect, perhaps sadly invalid. Today, I drove to work plotting on how to get rid of Soresy, my nickname for it, which is short for eye sore. I thought long and hard, which if you know me, means fifteen minutes later, I had to pull over and rest from all that thinking. However, I came up with an idea of giving a key to my friend and have him make it look like our house got burglarized. But realistically no respectful thief would possibly take Soresy. Still, my friend has a young son. What if while visiting our jungle, I mean living room, he accidentally knocked it over – thirty times. Surely, that would break Soresy.

I thought about getting an obnoxious stuffed fox to place strategically beside Soresy. But I nixed that idea because of my overwhelming fear that my wife would think what a wonderful addition it would make in our room. So for now Soresy stands displayed in the corner as I remain infuriated by its presence. I have avoided him as much as possible to keep my blood pressure down. I went out and bought a pith helmet along with binoculars while being adorned in khaki shorts and shirt. I want to look and play the part as I enter the room of a mighty hunter crossing the plains of Africa. In my tortured mind, I delude myself that I can scare him off. But Soresy remains statuesque a taxidermist dream frozen in death. He remains my foil, my practical joke, a cigar I smoke that unexpectedly blows up in my face. When I recover, and the smoke clears, Soresy drops an anvil on my head. I’m trapped in a cartoonish loop in my own house.

I try not to notice him as though he’s a gigantic zit that appeared in my living room’s face. I can’t help it, I gotta look. I find myself peeking over, praying he’s gone. Soresy antagonistically stands next to shelves full of vases accompanied by idyllic scenes of Guatemalan countrysides, churches, and illuminated horizons hanging within wooden frames on our living room walls. My wife over many years has created a picturesque memorial to her beloved country. Now there’s a giant giraffe in our living room! A four legged tourist staring at a country where he was created.

Maybe he is simpatico with our Central American motif. Perhaps, Soresy is another homage of artwork transported here to remember life there. So, I ask my wife if giraffes are native to her country. They are not but they are exhibits at the local zoo. I hate animals being trapped in their cages for our delight. It’s a revelation that has come to me late in life. Now I don’t want to get rid of Soresy I want desperately to free him!

He arrived here in pieces assembled and smuggled into my home. My wife knew I would have blocked and barricaded the door. However, my nephew and niece have a beautiful 6-month-old daughter whose bedroom by happenstance is decorated like a safari room. One may consider this regifting, but I think of it as rescuing my living room by embellishing their baby room. Just as Pinnochio transformed into a real boy, Soresy will become alive as well brought to life by a child’s imagination. Suddenly, I feel less like their uncle and more like Gepetto. Maybe, I just need to write a better ending to someone else’s story starting with “I Have a Giant Giraffe in My Bedroom.”