I stepped on a toy last night.
Or rather, a toy attacked my foot as I innocently wandered past.
It had razor-sharp edges, and cat-like stealth in its perfectly camouflaged position, nestled in the carpet. The bite was absolute. The seizure inducing pain lingered, my attempts to hop and wiggle the agony away in vain.
Words like “fudge ripple” and “sugar cookies” came floating out of my mouth like the most sublime Shakespeare. In my eloquence, I damned the toy to the seventh level of Hell from whence it came. No curse was more complete in its rendering.
Upon finding the toy, I refrained from pulverizing its shiny, rectangular form by mortar and pestle, and instead flung it into the depths of the toy box, banning to the darkness with its conspirators.
I’ll be ready next time, you small, plastic menace. Just you wait and see.