The other day, while browsing very concentrated for a new skirt in my favorite second hand shop, I found a crappy looking t-shirt, decorated with pearls and decided to make a pearl necklace.
I’ve never been a fan of pearls or a fan of anything formal or aristocratic for that matter. It just seems like a big cage, where you act socially appropriate in order to fit in a society that has a needle up its ass. All those rules and etiquette seem suffocating. But recently I’ve been admiring pearls mostly for the weird way they’re produced.
There is something captivating in the whole ordeal of making a pearl. The little oyster gets unlucky and some piece of crap gets stuck in it’s mantle. So what is the most natural thing to do in this sort of situation? Cry, eat lots of chocolate, write depressing poems about the pain of it all! The oyster just sits there, producing calcium carbonate and conchiolin (read it from wikipedia) to cover the irritant and creates a shiny pearl, ready to become a decoration for a fat wrist. That oyster is stronger than most of the population on this planet! If I get something stuck like that, I would probably wait for it to magically disappear. Maybe even write a poem about it and post it on the internet for other sad, emo net users to share my pain! It’s just inspirational and sometimes disappointing, how we’ve managed to evolve the crappiest way possible.
Those are not real pearls of course, otherwise I would be writing this on my new boat with a martini and a pretty, colorful straw floating in it. Instead I’m writing this on my sofa, with the chinese I ordered and a weird smell coming from somewhere, better check it out.