The Wall

It's not that the wall was looking at me, it was the way it was looking at me. A strange sort of distrusting glare. I dare not break the gaze but it was practically impossibe. It's flies were undone. Have you ever tried staring a man in the eye whose flies were undone. I was worried that if I upset him that he would stop performing the one function that he was good for. Stopping the ceiling becoming the floor. Not being one for anthropomorphism or personification I frowned at the fact that I had referred to my wall as him. If he was a him do I treat it as a slave by calling it 'my wall?'

For some reason things had gotten complicated. How am I going too straighten this mess out. All I had was curling tongs. Curling tongs are no good for straightening things out, I needed a trouser press. eBay was no help, it seemed nobody in the world had a trouser press big enough for sorting this problem out. I guess I'll have to do it the hard way and stop confusing past tense with present. My wall is now hanging above a steaming bath waiting for the crinkles to fall out.