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The ‘tudes around us

“This door is alarmed.”

What on Earth had scared it so much that someone had to post a sign about it? Perhaps they were telling me not to upset the door any more than it already was. I have known many doors that were secure, so maybe this was a single open and shut case.

A friend had asked me to check her apartment while she was away, and I entered her building quietly so I would not cause any further upset. My gaze fell on the window next to the unfortunate door, and I wondered if it, too, had been startled this morning. That would be a real pane, I thought, and glanced down as I contemplated the window’s mood.

I noticed right away that the boards I was standing on looked a little floored. I had just gotten here, so I knew that it was nothing I had done or said.

I entered her apartment and went straight to the kitchen to put away the groceries I had brought. I left as soon as I could, though; this floor was much too slick and polished for a simple girl like me. I did check out the refrigerator before I left, and it was a good thing I did. I found it running but getting nowhere fast, so I opened the door – which, thank heavens, was not alarmed. The milk was a little blinky, which reminded me that I don’t like milk that blinks at me, or especially cheese that makes me curdle at its taste. I’ve learned to stay away from the lemons like the ones she had in her vegetable bin – they’re sourpusses, and I don’t need them in my life.

I made my way into the living room, although I found no one actually living there. The first thing I noticed about this floor was something lying there like a rug. I try to avoid rugs. If they’re not lying, it’s usually because they’re beat. I sidestepped the floor lamp that was turned on, as usual, but the table lamps were mostly burnt out. Probably because they had been dim bulbs to start with.

The fireplace was a contradiction – there was no fire to be seen. I thought about suing for false advertising, but the tools next to it gave me nothing but poker faces. Thankfully, the Persian carpet in front of the hearth was in no shape to fly, which was fine with me. The sofa was in a dither – it didn’t know whether it was a sofa or a bed. I hate it when furniture goes schizophrenic, don’t you?

I made my way back to the bedroom where there was, indeed, a bed, so at least this room lived up to its reputation. Its spread had done just that, arranged with all of the corners squared and the pattern aligned just so. Someone had thrown rugs on either side of the bed. It was not the first time I had wondered if they were called shag rugs because they came from Myrtle Beach, home of the famous dance. This room, unlike the others in the house, was squared away, even though the floor plan declared it to be 9x12.

The bathroom was another story. First, there was no actual bath, and the shower had a full head of steam that was a real drain on resources. The commode had delusions of grandeur and insisted on being called a throne. Flush with his own success, I dare say. I just rolled my eyes at the vanity – what a diva! The scent of all the different bottles of girl goop helped the shower fog up her mirror. I was glad to see that Mat and his brother were doing an excellent job of lying about in strategic spots in this small room.

I soon left, knowing I had done my good deed for the day. I was happy to return to my home sweet home, where I judiciously let sleeping dogs lie. I stirred the pot I had left on the back burner and smiled at yet another day in Paradise.


Mailing Address:
PO Box 16766
Fernandina Beach, FL 32035

Physical Address:
511 Ash Street

Fernandina Beach, FL 32034

Phone: (904) 261-3696
Fax: (904) 261-3698