As I hurried to the laundry room in the wee hours of the morn in hopes that my day's schedule not be filled with finding free washers, I was just throwing my last sock in, and that's when it happened. That's when I stepped on a piece of glass that lodged itself deep into my big toe. The resistance accompanied with dislodging it was quite remarkable, and the crimson blob about the size of a silver dollar was the most deeply romantic color I had ever seen.
Did I clean up the mess I had just made? No, I left my pool of blood in plain sight on the floor as a reminder to all that they should clean up their shattered messes before they go about leaving shards for innocent bystanders.
And then I'll wear my shoes next time.
I returned, and my pool of pride had been nonchalantly smeared as a halfhearted effort of someone's ponder about what had transpired in that particular laundry room.
Follow through is the key.
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