I awoke with some alarm. Shame washed over me.What had I done last night? Oh my days….I couldn’t believe the disastrous event of the night before. “That’s it,” I fumed, “I’m changing my name!” I hurriedly prepared for work and drove off, furiously berating myself.
Last night, my beauty sleep had been rudely interrupted by the incessant sound of someone (or something) calling my name. Softly at first, then more insistently. I’d eventually leapt out of bed, slipped into my ecru petticoat and made a seraphic descent into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, the caramel cake first blinked, then winked at me, calling out my name again. Killing the cake had been swift and distinctly pleasurable.
Until this morning, that is. Now filled with remorse, those 2 pleasurable minutes had come back to haunt me; especially as I was finding it increasing difficult to bend down. My shoe-lace tying days were over the minute the items in my fridge knew my name.
So there you have it; that’s why I’m changing my name.