Sentence: The Chair

I fear it. At least twice a month. This monster haunts my dreams. It waits silently, patiently, around the corner. I can see its self spawning ooze running down onto the floor inching ever closer to my hiding place. At the very last second, I spring from my slumber drenched in sweat, stumble to the bathroom and stare into the mirror, shaking. I splash some water on my face as so many do when nightmares come. Only, I wake up to the reality that this creature must be faced. I cannot kill it. I cannot break it. I can only appease it, subdue it for a fortnight until it is angry again.

WAIT LISTEN!! This is no ordinary monster! It wears a disguise if child-like innocence, I tell you the truth! I am strong enough to fight it but not defeat it. I AM the byronic hero that fights relentlessly. The monster? It is a demonic high-chair that a sweet little boy needs to use to have his meals. This chair throws food onto every nearby surface. As such, it must be cleaned. And wow... My predecessor would drag this beast into the shower of cleanly-Godliness, sizzling off all that was evil & encrusted. But the chair prevailed. My predecessor laid down her fiery sword so that she could rest (and teach Pilates). I now carry the burden. I must first soak it for an hour with cleaning spray, scrape the evil loose with only a toothbrush & a butter-knife (thanks to many nooks & crannies), THEN, I too, drag it into the shower of cleanly-Godliness.

We are safe.


For now...