Monday, July 16, 2012

The Day I Stabbed The Ceiling

They say most accidents in the home happen in the bathroom. 

Clearly, whomever "they" may be, they've not visited my home. 

Imagine, if you will (and I think you will), a cool, bright spring evening. 

You've come home from a day of work and would like to start cooking dinner with a clean slate. Those clean dishes must be put away. 

You fire up your redneck sound system. (iPod plugged straight into computer speakers atop a shelving unit) and roll up your sleeves.

Now, you've spent all damned winter waiting to see the sky the color it is today. With the music secure, your next priority quickly becomes letting in as much light as possible. 

You reach across your pile of clean dishes and past the magnetic knife strip and, ignoring the dust along the bottom of the fabric, give the rolling curtain a yank. 

And shank the ever living shit out of the ceiling. 

Tell you what, that ceiling hasn't back-talked me since.

Nope. Not a peep.

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