It’s the night before Hallowe’en, so our weekly open mic included a zombie named Bob, a linguistics-reading T-Rex and a passable facsimile of Amy Winehouse. But nobody’s outfit was as poignant as my friend Sarah’s tee shirt:
I didn’t even see it until my boyfriend leaned over and said “I want to tell the rhino that he’s just fine how he is.”
I think it’s just possible that we’re supposed to be laughing at the poor fellow for his inability to be a unicorn, but I read it as incisive commentary on the fundamental heartbreak and futility of aspiring to an unattainable ideal. Note that the rhino is totally cute, in no way less cute than the unicorn. His only failing is in being a rhino instead. Augh! And my boyfriend wants to tell him that he’s fine how he is! Does it kill you or what? I just want to tear that poster down and coax him out to the open plains, where he can run freely, far from the oppressive eye of his impossible aspirational image. (With the speed of a rhino. They’re actually pretty great athletes! But you know, oh their poor joints etc. etc.)
Goddamn. I kind of want to commission the artist to draw a happy ending, after the rhino discovers what an awesome rhino he is, even though he’s barely a passable unicorn, and finds out how rewarding it is to just munch grass and barrel through the Serengeti. And then we can use it as a mascot or something.
It should be noted here that I have a documented problem with sad anthropomorphic animals and will probably be up all night over this. You should feel free to invent happy rhino scenarios to make me feel better.