Getting ready for bed just now, I brushed my teeth and reached for my towel to dry my face and hands and discovered that my towel had fallen to the floor. Again. I hate that. It always seems to be sliding off the hook. I hang it up and watch it slowly slide, thread by thread, along the point of the hook. Creeping inevitably to the floor. I hate picking it up again and again. I want new towel hooks with barbaric points like meat hooks that point violently upward. Diamond tipped brutes that bite into the fabric and hold it there. Gargantuan fish hooks that pierce the fabric. Whatever it takes to get that damned towel to stay there so I don’t have to keep bending down in futility to re-hang a towel that will only slip off again. What kind of a hook is that anyway? Makes me want to slap somebody.

You can tell I’ve had a long, bad day, and I can’t really write about the things that made this day so bad. So my towel hooks must suffer the brunt of my displaced frustration. If I had a dog, I’d kick it.