….but so will most household items.
I swear, inanimate objects are always out to get me. Like in yesterday’s post, the gate is a prime example of an inanimate object that wants me dead.
You know what other piece of furniture hates me? Tables. And I hate them back. Wanna know why? Because I always hit my god damn hip bones right on the edge of those suckers. I feel like the purpose of a table is just to ensure that I:
A) have painful bruises on my hips at all times, that are roughly the color of dog vomit and grape juice.
B) need a hip replacement by the of 29.
I also have a terrible relationship with stairs. I trip up and down the stairs on a regular basis. My most recent battle with the stairs was a few weekends ago, when I made a weekend trip to Fredonia to see Justin. We were cuddling on the couch, all wrapped up in a big warm blanket, when Justin started tickling me. And I was NOT HAPPY. So, as he ran up the stairs to his room to hide, I tried to get off the couch and up the stairs-all while still wrapped in the blanket.
I made it about half way up the stairs, when suddenly, the blanket twisted around my feet. I kept running up the stairs anyways, but just as I reached the top, I felt the awful feeling of my feet going out from under me-and you bet your sweet ass I fell alllllllll the way back down those stairs.
A few moments later, I heard Justin slowly emerge from his room. I lay, face down in a heap of blankets, at the bottom of the stairs. I surely must have looked dead, or at least unconscious. The next sound I heard was hysterical laughter from Justin, and him asking, “Did you just fall down the stairs??” No Justin, I LIKE laying here.
Of course I fell down the stairs.
This morning was another unfortunate occurrence of pain cause by furniture. While reaching into my closet, I knocked a pair of earring off my dresser. When I bent down to pick them up, I grabbed the edge of my dresser as support while I leaned over. Little did I know that the top drawer was open, and when I grabbed the edge of the dresser two things happened. One: My pinky finger was right in the opening of the top drawer. Two: My palm pressed the drawer closed-ON MY PINKY FINGER.
It hurt so bad. I instantly had tears in my eyes and became completely consumed with rage. I reeled backwards, stepping on several plastic hangers, which of course instantly broke under my weight and stabbed at my feet like a pack of hungry wolves. Then I started yelling obscenities, while trying to get ready for class and also ignore the fact that I had just been completely defeated by some plastic and a wooden dresser.
And after all that pain and suffering, and race-walking 10 minutes across campus so I could be to class on time…
I find a note on the classroom door saying that class was cancelled.