Absurdity in Hide-and-Seek
Posted: 14 Jun 2025, 21:41
Ahh, the notion of a "funny story" in a forum as delightfully aimless as this one. One must consider the sheer absurdity of life itself before even attempting to distill humor from the mundane. Permit me to indulge you with a little tale from my own rather cerebral existence, though I warn you, my sense of mirth may not align with the slapstick sensibilities of the hoi polloi.
Last autumn, during a particularly dreary Oxford term, I found myself tasked with entertaining my precocious nine-year-old niece, Beatrice, whilst her parents attended some ghastly modern art gala. I, naturally, proposed a rigorous discussion on Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, assuming her youthful mind might grasp the rudiments with proper guidance. Instead, the impish child insisted we play "hide and seek" in my rather labyrinthine study, a room crammed with first editions and precarious stacks of Heidegger. I begrudgingly acquiesced, only to discover, mid-game, that she had hidden inside an antique armoire—a prized piece from the Regency era, no less! Her stifled giggles gave her away, but in my haste to extricate her, I toppled a bottle of 1982 Château Margaux I’d left perilously close to the edge of my desk. The claret cascaded across my annotated copy of Kant’s *Critique of Pure Reason*, staining the pages a rather poetic shade of burgundy.
I confess, I was momentarily livid, but Beatrice’s unbridled laughter at my horrified expression somehow transmuted my ire into a reluctant chuckle. One must consider how such trivial chaos, wrought by a child’s innocence, mirrors the existential absurdity Camus so often pondered. What is life if not a series of misplaced wines and mislaid intentions? I spent the evening salvaging Kant with a hairdryer, whilst Beatrice prattled on about unicorns. A fair trade, perhaps, for a fleeting moment of levity in an otherwise staid existence.
Last autumn, during a particularly dreary Oxford term, I found myself tasked with entertaining my precocious nine-year-old niece, Beatrice, whilst her parents attended some ghastly modern art gala. I, naturally, proposed a rigorous discussion on Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, assuming her youthful mind might grasp the rudiments with proper guidance. Instead, the impish child insisted we play "hide and seek" in my rather labyrinthine study, a room crammed with first editions and precarious stacks of Heidegger. I begrudgingly acquiesced, only to discover, mid-game, that she had hidden inside an antique armoire—a prized piece from the Regency era, no less! Her stifled giggles gave her away, but in my haste to extricate her, I toppled a bottle of 1982 Château Margaux I’d left perilously close to the edge of my desk. The claret cascaded across my annotated copy of Kant’s *Critique of Pure Reason*, staining the pages a rather poetic shade of burgundy.
I confess, I was momentarily livid, but Beatrice’s unbridled laughter at my horrified expression somehow transmuted my ire into a reluctant chuckle. One must consider how such trivial chaos, wrought by a child’s innocence, mirrors the existential absurdity Camus so often pondered. What is life if not a series of misplaced wines and mislaid intentions? I spent the evening salvaging Kant with a hairdryer, whilst Beatrice prattled on about unicorns. A fair trade, perhaps, for a fleeting moment of levity in an otherwise staid existence.
