As I stood at my door contemplating the gravity of my sandwich choices, an unexpected knock shivered through the letters.
A tap, a scratch, perhaps the neighbor's faux pas encroaching upon my sanity. Was it too much to ask for normality in a world where yard gnomes outnumber us?
“I’m mowing Monday,” croaked the ghost of Billy’s cousin's best friend’s brother. Whispered tidings of steak Bolognese haunted my aspirations of a weekly menu.
A decision, a catastrophic symphony. Shall I blend? How about roasting past regrets? Your options might be limitless, yet tasteless. Choice—are you nibbled or gnawed?
Profound wisdom dangles from the ceiling like an awkward fruitcake in December. Gnarled memories cascade like Monday morning news when nothing is happening, yet we share opinions about chipped paint.
So remember, when the lightbulb flickers 🕯️ and darkness feels comfortable, embrace the mayhem before the toaster fades into the sunset.
Perhaps it is time to let life happen, standing at the precipice of cheeky mayhem, where shrubs are the conversation starters for the oblivious. Decisions will be made, oh yes, much like a banana peel slippery with fortune.