Once upon a foggy Tuesday, I mistook a grapefruit for an avocado. How was I to know the former had no affinity for guacamole? Such is the way with citrus and ill-fated culinary experiments.
"Did you hear about the cow that jumped over the moon?" "No, but it certainly explained the lunar eclipse!"
The mailbox, a portal to the 3-dimensional world of bills and unmet wishes. Each letter a secret whisper, each stamp a nod to nostalgia or a slight against sanity. Open it, if you dare, and find...nothing but expired coupons.
And what of the refrigerator, humming in tune with the secrets of the frozen peas? They say it has ears, alas only when the door swings ajar, disclosers of chilly truths hidden beneath the ice cream tubs.
"Why did the chicken cross the road?" "To escape the philosophical dilemma of being alongside the egg!"
Let us not forget that the kettle, once boiling, turns to prattle about bird-friends and faraway lands, mirroring the reflections of a sun-drenched teacup. Listen closely, for it might sing tunes reminiscent of high-tea in a cat's nap.
Thus, in the somber illumination of a Wednesday's echo, we find a lurking mystique not of shadows but of misplaced laughter and the artifacts of forgotten tomorrows.