Were you to shimmy, where would you shimmy to?

They stare down at you, unmoved. Some are surrounded by water, some by awkward seating, and some by a ridiculous amount of foliage.

I guarantee you statues are jealous of each other’s spots. I’m sure most of them would want to be surrounded by water spewing cherubs, but let’s face it, many of them are strategically stuck under a tree, forcing them into the position of a bronzed pigeon lavatory. It’s really all very tragic.

I also believe most of us think statues are all a little creepy. Personally, I don’t trust them. Have you ever noticed they don’t blink? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEM THAT THEY CAN’T BLINK?? And you know they so want to.

Alright, so maybe you may think I’m a little overly hostile, particularly due to statues being inanimate objects and all. Granted, but let me explain: I am very jealous of statues.

First of all, they’re much taller than I am. I’m 5’2” (Fine. 5’ 1” and ¾. You can lower your right eyebrow now.) I have height envy: I can never reach the high shelf, or see over the person sitting in front of me in a movie theatre. It’s a terrible affliction, but I deal with it as best I can. No need to send flowers, though I thank you for your heartfelt thoughts – and if you haven’t heartfelt those thoughts yet, feel free to start heartfeeling them now.

There.

Better.

My second reason for statue-envy is because they *are* the proverbial fly on the wall. I’m a sucker for gossip and they see it all. Plus, they will never be shot for being an unsuspecting witness to any activities not meant for their eyes.

So here we have Mr Champlain, Mr Lafayette and Mr Macdonald standing in their rose bushes, moats and squares, watching life walk, jog, and sometimes, on the odd day, shimmy by them.

I swear, it was only once. I was on my cell phone, I got some good news, and I did a little victory dance. But as soon as I noticed I had company, I apologised and kept walking… I thought it would have been incredibly rude of me to have shimmied willy-nilly without any consideration to those around me, as inanimate as they might be.

I can’t help but imagine the little bits of life they steal away from passer-bys. The nose and wedgie pickings, the double takes, the under-your-breath-comments made only for your own satisfaction and the inanimate objects around you. Sometimes I wish I were the inanimate objects around you.

Like the rest of us, I also derive pornographic pleasure in witnessing people’s deliciously unflattering moments.

Imagine all the secrets statues keep. For example, it tares me up inside that they know the identity of the Steven Wright Tribute Criminal. A tribute criminal is a concept very similar to the tribute band. However, instead of doing covers to honour musicians, they commit crimes and leave behind some kind of themed memento for added criminal flair. Here, the theme is the comedic prowess of dead pan comedian Steven Wright. It’s a very underground movement. Some might say I’m making it up as I type. Not me though. But some.

Following a break-in at an upscale hair salon across the street from a square where stands a stone Abe Lincoln, this tribute criminal left a small sign in the window that said,

“Boycott shampoo! Demand the real poo! – Steven Wright.”

In another such incident, this time across a small public park where Shakespeare held his quill up high, the same man robbed 99% of a furniture store, leaving only a small nightstand behind. On that table, he left a small card which said,

“You can't have everything. Where would you put it? – Steven Wright.”

Statues get the inside scoop on everything. The difference is they can’t spread the word. Which is, let’s face it, half the fun of gossip. Also, they’re only there for the main event, they get no closure. They can’t follow the criminal off to find out whether or not they managed to get a hold of the “real poo.” That and whether they would ever figure out where to put everything were they to acquire everything.

But very worst of all, they could never follow the shimmiying stranger to see where somebody so fond of the shimmy would shimmy to.