How to Tell If Your Room Has Been Moved While You Slept.

 

One of the ways I can tell if my room has been moved during the night even while I slept silently within it, is, if on the following day I'm approached by a person who claims to have been given a message to convey to a dear friend who I once knew well but has now gone on to die, not only alone but in a transparent ignominy for which he was never to blame. When that happens—and it has, I'm afraid, more than once—my only choice is to hike up my britches, look him straight in the eye and wonder aloud if I might have met him in the years before polarized television was invented. If he comes at me with a knife in one hand and a hand written friendship card in the other, I will ask if he'd care to see a specialist while I have the time to show him the ropes and make good on my promise to his parents to introduce him to people who won't hold his skin condition against him like all the others.

When he asks if now would be a good time to bask in premature adulation, I tell him that I'm through kidding around and he can either take it or leave it, by the side of a forgotten road or even near a facility that I've never had time to use. Now that his secret father-in-law has promised to donate over sixty-one million dollars as part of a research figment from the Abraham Michaelson Foundation, it seems clear that all is set for a whirlwind engagement party in the Nation's Capital. Each of us will be sure to secure our best shoes against an ironclad certainty of theft in the 'golden hour'. The children will no longer be permitted to enter our home without having first vandalized the out-building of an unpleasant neighbor. I will get a piece of spongecake and secure it to the bottom of an untapped lake which used to be the home venue of the Cleveland Cancer Babies. They won't think twice about stepping on my head when that project is curtailed sometime in May of 2031.

By the time my 'rigging' campaign is all but complete, it's thought by seasoned observers that the chance of him coming around my daughter's place of employment and offering a series of ever lamer excuses on the behalf of a besieged ethnic minority is nil at best. On the off chance that he decides to equip a targeted individual with a high powered, medical grade drippage detector, people at large will finally see the truth of the assertions that I've made for the last thirteen years and perhaps even consider hosting a testimonial affair. There's a set of flower puffs that I've prepared for just that eventuality. In addition, there's a name that I won't be using, though. You can look that up if you're so deeply invested in the outcome. They won't hold you liable if my protein supplement is siezed by Postal Authorities in British Columbia. If anyone could possibly provide an excuse, I will look kindly on their petition. It's about time!

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