I managed to slyly pluck the electronic device from its socket and made my merry way back to my room. Well, attempted. I happened to scrape the side of my ankle against the bed post and watched as raw skin tore away from my foot, like a letterbox flap. I imagined what would have happened if I'd literally collapsed and been unable to move, lying semi-conscious on the wooden floor as a pool of blood surrounded this blood-forsaken foot of mine and seeped through the cracks into the apartment below. A tempting vinaigrette for that evening's salad. And then, Prince Charming would fly through the sky on a flamingo to save me from my inevitable fate. But the reality was, I'd be caught in the act, holding a stolen hair dryer. The culprit in the story, not the victim.
After hobbling back to my room like a one-legged walrus (funny, since walruses don't actually have legs), I quietly lamented my foot's destiny. Would this warrant a Disabled parking ticket I wonder?
And then, as I limped out of the apartment into the big wide world, I managed to slice my hand open on the handle of someone's bike. (NB: Slice is perhaps a slight hyperbole - my hand is still intact.) Nevertheless, anger mounted as I looked grudgingly at the bike, immediately feeling a strong aversion to its owner for leaving it in such a useless location. Was this my punishment for momentarily stealing a hair dryer?
I'd even attempted to remove my finger prints with some cotton buds. Definitely a future thief in the making...
Watch this space.
Montana
P.S. The picture you see above is a hair dryer revolver. "The Hair Dryer" is slowly becoming a strong contender for my number one crime weapon for when I make it big time.
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