NaNoPrep 2017 Day 8: Bruegel's Finest Work

by Robin de Voh on October 18th, 2017

She looked at the painting and wondered how it had gotten there. Not the painting itself, this was a museum, it wasn't interesting to her how it had gotten here. But according to the card on the wall, this painting was completed in 1564, after 3 years of work. It showed a town square, peasants going about their business.

But how had Pieter Bruegel known her face, let alone her husband's, and why were they in this centuries-old painting?

She looked around whether her husband was near, but he was elsewhere, probably not looking at a painting of his own face. She turned back to the painting and leaned over the cord, which was supposed to keep people at a distance.

It was definitely her, and she knew the outfit she was wearing in the painting too. She'd last worn that sweater a few weeks before. Her husband was wearing that white t-shirt she absolutely detested. It had a sperm on it in the shape of the Nike logo and said "Just did it".

She groaned. Of all the shirts, of course it was that one.

She shook her head, realizing this was not something to be so casual about. She walked away and into the next room, looking for him. There he was, looking at an abstract piece. When he saw her, he beckoned her over.

"It's just blue. Just, blue on blue. How is this art? I don't get it," he whispered to her, pointing at the work.
"It's subjective. And on the matter of what is art, come with me."
"Why? I'm having fun not understanding these paintings."
"There's something you have to see."
"What is it?"
"Just come along, okay?"

He sighed and nodded. She grabbed his hand and they went into the adjacent room, back to where the Bruegel was. She pointed at the painting and pulled him along.

He looked at it for a while and then at her.

"So? It's some peasants in a crappy old town," he whispered to her.
"Look to the left, behind the cart," she answered with an annoyed and impatient tone in her whisper.

He looked and his eyes opened wide.

"Holy crap," he said a little too loudly.
"I know, right, that's US."

He grinned. She looked at him.

"What?"
"Look at it more closely."
"Why?"
"Just do it, okay?"

She sighed, rolled her eyes and cursed him in her mind. Then she leaned back in and squinted.

She eventually noticed a glimmer she hadn't noticed before. It was different than the rest of the painting. And then it clicked. Her head snapped back to face him.

"You asshole."

He laughed, again a little too loud.

"I wasn't sure it would still be up," he said as a tear rolled down his face, "You should've seen your face!"
"So you ruined a piece of art for a joke?" She was almost ready to forget about being in a museum and just straight up shout at him.
"Oh, relax, it's printed on that static plastic stuff. It'll come right off," he said, still laughing.

She did not relax.

The ride home was made in silence. He'd still chuckle from time to time, believing the joke was totally worth sleeping on the couch for a night.

She, however, was very much annoyed. He'd embarrassed her in public and she wasn't just going to let that slide.

Later that night, a certain t-shirt went missing, never to embarrass her again.