“Oh my God, what is that?!” I heard my mom scream from the living room.
We were visiting a home my real-estate-agent-aunt was trying to sell It had been on the market for over a year, but she just couldn’t seem to seal the deal on it. That day, my mother and I discovered why that was:
In the living room of the house was an enormous painting of a clown. Not a regular clown, but the kind of clown that makes you want to build a fort out of throw pillows and hide inside of it until its image has escaped you. It had long, curly brown hair with frays at the end that made each strand look like a caterpillar. The clown of course had the standard full face of makeup with over-lined red lipstick, but he also had an insanely wide smile which made him look like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland when you’re looking for area rugs in Emeryville CA.
You’d think a clown would be wearing a striped jumpsuit because that’s what they wear, but nope:
This clown was wearing a stylish yellow crop-top and ripped jeans. His belt had a bedazzled unicorn on it. I almost didn’t see the buckle because it was hidden under the clown’s ENORMOUS, HAIRY BEER-BELLY. We begged my aunt to take it down, but she insisted on keeping it, saying it gave the house “the millennial flare it needed”.
About a half an hour later, a young couple came to view the house. My aunt briskly greeted them and proceeded to give them a tour. Mom and I sat in the kitchen eating celery sticks when suddenly we heard a blood-curdling scream come from the living room. Shortly after that we heard the front door slam. Moments later, my aunt walked into the kitchen, tail between her legs, and said, “…I’m gonna take the painting down now.” And she did.
A week later, my aunt called my mother and told her that she’d finally sold the house.
This was one of the first times in my life that I’d thought, “Hey, maybe decor does matter!”