Scheherazade

As one of my favorite stores, Anthropologie, brings back harem pants, singlehandedly foisting doom and ill-tidings on the bottom-halves of fashion victims, I think about once-in-a-lifetime kinds of things like harem pants which should only exist once-in-a-lifetime due to ugliness, and characters like Scheherazade (a likely wearer of said pants), who only seem to come once-in-a-lifetime because who can top such a literary goldmine?

It would certainly be wonderful to be endowed with the gifts of weaving exciting stories night after night, and the ability to keep an evil-minded king spellbound so that he wouldn’t kill you the next morning. As reviews go, a beheading is definitely a bad one, and facing such an ending every day might have provided just the right kind of inspiration. Then, after her 1,001 tales, and 1,001 nights, Scheherazade had provided the king with three sons, softened him with tales that made him want to be a better  man, and was made Queen. A nice reward as rewards go, especially for a woman who was only trying to save countless other women from being killed.

I’m not getting the riches of a king, and I’m certainly not facing the axe if I don’t get my work done, but Scheherazade’s story is enviable, because she seemed effortlessly prolific and also because she is a perfect literary heroine. And since I’m momentarily stalled in the creation of my own tales, I invoke thousand-storied Scheherazade for motivation. But not her voluminous pants. Because those are just terrible.

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