By Kristine Baker
SEND A PRIVATE COMMENT
SEND ARTICLE TO A FRIEND
My Q-tips talk. When I pull one out of the jar from the cabinet in the bathroom, it screams in a tiny little voice, "Help me!" A brave Q-tip will latch on in desperation to save the life of its fellow member. I win the short game of tug-o-war and the rescue Q-tip gets pushed down with the rest of the members in the jar. The lid is replaced and they return to the cabinet to mourn the loss of one of their own.
My Q-tips talk. The last one in the jar always tells me it is scared and lonely in the cabinet. So I take sympathy on the Q-tip and I introduce a new handful into the jar. The last Q-tip is not scared of being alone; it is now afraid of the new Q-tips. The last Q-tip purposefully stands taller than all the rest because it would rather be chosen the next time around and live life outside of the jar, hoping to meet up with its former jar-mates.
I'm quirky; my Q-tips talk.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.