When idle, he invents inefficient idiosyncratic idioms like: ‘ignorant iguanas are immune to ice cream’.
He is himself immune to ideas of improvement and in such cases imagines company more irksome than isolation. However, Isolation inexplicably inflames his ire and during such incidents much furniture is made irreparable. His hands thus imbued with the blood of the inventory, he inaudibly implores the idol on the inaccessible shelf above his bed for a new identity.
How he installed the idol there might incite curiosity, but he finds it impolite to imply that he is incapable of placing his own possessions anywhere in his room.
To you, he might seem inflated and inflexible, but as he says: ‘No one is infallible,’ and induction would lead one to believe that it is so.
The English Gardener
/ May 10, 2013Wow, what wonderous writing!
W. R. Woolf
/ May 11, 2013A thousand thanks for all your thoughtful comments 🙂
Jessica
/ May 12, 2013Impressive.
W. R. Woolf
/ May 13, 2013Thank you 🙂