Meredith knew she had put it off long enough.
She had hemmed.
She had hawed.
She had worked on things that didn’t need working, piddled with things that didn’t need piddling, and dicked with things that didn’t need dicking. She had even scrubbed all the toilets in the house, answered emails that had languished in her inbox for centuries, and finally scheduled the horrid colonoscopy her healthcare plan had been harping about since she hit the big 5-0 a few years ago. Wretched things, indeed. But not as wretched as the dreaded beast that loomed on the horizon, taunting her with impending destruction if she didn’t take matters into hand.
It was time.
Meredith donned the ceremonial battle robes worn by her people since time immemorial, garments designed to invoke the spirit of the Goddess Truculenta, the ancient warrior queen who had been victorious in the Battle of Folklore Heath. She garnished her head with a crown made of BellaDonnaSummer flowers, the petals of which provided a pleasant narcotizing effect should one be felled in a skirmish. She even sang a brief marching tune in the lost language of her people, which was an amazing feat, really, considering both the dialect and anyone who spoke it had been dead since long before Nero played with matches and a fiddle.
Enough of that. Duty called.
Meredith left the sanctimonious warmth of her Reflection Chamber, exited her Fortress of Solitude, plodded across a field of barley (nodding courteously to Sting), navigated the Forest of Confusion with questionable success (“Recalculating!” barked her GPS device, often and with increasing vehemence), and eventually climbed Every Mountain, finally coming to a halt on the rim of the WordPress Volcano.
She took a deep breath, pulled out her laptop, navigated to her blog, took another deep breath, and then switched her settings to the New Block Editor that the WP programmers had been trying to force upon her for months. She then tossed the laptop aside and prepared to leap into the swirling, unknown lava far below.
Her cell phone pinged.
Meredith whipped it out and reviewed a fresh text. Apparently, her colonoscopy had been pushed out a month, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding that required the examining physician to spend a brief sojourn in the county jail. Meredith smiled. There was still time to avoid the inevitable.
She turned and climbed back down Every Mountain and headed to her Fortress, stopping for a bit in the barley field to sing a duet with Sting about the dangers of dicking with things that shouldn’t be dicked with…
Note: This is the first “fresh” Past Imperfect that I’ve done in roughly a year, as time has a way of slipping through your fingers when you’re busy with life. That being the case, some of you will get a double dip with this post, as I’m going to share this on “Crusty Pie” as well. That poor site has been neglected for too long. Enjoy. Twice.
Categories: Past Imperfect