Amidst the flotsam and jetsam that has fetched up on the dining room table, one can discern feeble attempts at self-improvement. The female has been reading this spiritual memoir.
Let us hope that the intercession of this gaggle of holy people wearing nighties is efficacious. She will surely never achieve a heavenly resting place upon her own merits.
I spy: the remains of an Asian noodle soup lunch, one wristwatch, scissors, a box of facial tissues, several bills, some loose change, an iPad, and a plethora of fountain pen ink samples.
Look, Sigyn, most of these have sparkly particles in them! Let me tell you, that is the only sparkle the human female’s prose would EVER have. Let’s have some fun and loosen all the labels…
What have you got there? Ah, a set of tiny screwdrivers, essential for fixing things around here, because both humans have a screw loose.
Which reminds me, it is time to loosen the knobs on the human female’s antique dresser again.
I deduce that, in an effort to become a smaller version of herself, the human female has had a simple carton of yogurt for lunch.
She wonders why “all the good flavors” seem to have nasty-tasting sucralose, stevia, aspartame, or other non-sugar sweeteners. It has never occurred to her to check my holdings in Pfizer, Heartland Food Products Group, Cargill, and Coca-Cola.
Oh, what’s this? An attempt to do a bit of cleaning?
I think I will let her finish and put the glass cleaner away and feel proud of herself before letting her notice all the smudges and crumbs I have put on the underside of the tabletop glass.