metschers / Pixabay

Since the preliminary bouts of the evening had now concluded, it would only be a matter of moments before the ultimate confrontation was at hand. An unyielding sense of concentration breathed steadily into the stagnant and stale air, as it stood poised to offset the anxiety which clearly stole the stage.

The scene was quiet, for the event had not the destiny, nor the design to appeal to the masses. It would not duplicate the vitality of the early Christians, whom had earned their martyrdom in the fearful dens of the Roman Coliseums. Neither would it match the intensity of the sacrificial rite performed in Pamplona, Spain; the site of the altar, where many a bull sheds its innocent life blood to a matador, who was armed with blade ad waved a red sheet. No, this contest would take place in the dim and dank atmosphere of the far corner of a small basement room.

One of the principals entered in the joust was a thirty-year-old seemingly ordinary man. He had spent forty days and nights in solitude; preparing himself physically, mentally, and spiritually in his quest to dispel of his opponent. Previously, he had handled himself well in defeating less qualified opponents. Though he understood the personal recognition that would come with a victory tonight, internally he mused and painstakingly wondered if he had the ability to reach beyond the golden gates and touch that eternal bliss, which he had yet to find. In his heart he knew he was challenging a foe that was far more formidable than those that he had faced in the past. Additionally, he was deeply aware of the price he had paid, in the squandering of his youth with neglect. And how it how it continually hung over his head as storm cloud of wasted opportunity.

It had come to pass in those days that he was spared the concern for such seemingly trivial matters as attending to his dirty laundry. His mother had dutifully and kindly relieved him of that responsibility. Later in life, when on his own for the first time in that buffer zone where a boy becomes a man., he had stooped to paying others to attend to this tedious function for him. Although, if this alternative was not available, he would haul his own dirty laundry to the home of the local coin operated machinery. After overflowing the washers and dryers, he would lug the clean items home, leaving them in a massive heap of disrespect in his apartment.

Ultimately, marriage and domesticated life had come to serve as the cornerstone by which he was able to alter his persona in this regard. In time, he had learned to appropriately utilize a washer and dryer and even discovered the essence of folding the laundry. However, there was one exception.

The fitted sheet had come to be his nagging nemesis and it continued to remain a fastened millstone around his neck. During the first twenty years of life, he had simply chosen to ignore this potential conflict. For the ten years that followed, he opted to leave his Achilles Heel for his wife to stride with, or he applied only a meager effort and succumbed to rolling the fitted sheet into a ball and admitted defeat. However, deep in his heart he knew the day would come in which he would square off with the four corners of his adversary known as the fitted sheet.

Today was the day. The dryer bell rang out like a golden trumpet, summoning the contestants and commencing the struggle between one man and the demons of his pride. Instantly, the man sprang to his feet, hastened to the dryer and unveiled its contents. The odds were more inclined to be in his favor if he could seize the fitted sheet while it was still warm and had not had the opportunity to begin to wrinkle. Luckily, tonight his timing was impeccable. Soon he was wrestling with the sheet in an attempt to gain the initial upper hand.

However, the fitted sheet had a mind of its own. It began gnashing its teeth, flapping wildly and trying desperately to wad itself into a pile of gnarled linen. Eventually, the sheet acquiesced into the man’s talon-like grip. He spread its corners and forced its two curled ends into their proper positions. It appeared that the physical struggle was nearly over. However, the fitted sheet wailed and unleashed one final, frenzied and fiendish attempt to wriggle itself free. Ultimately, the man subdued the sheet and placed it on the folding table, having tamed its spirit.

The man knew that final facet of the task was to insure that the edges of the sheet were correctly aligned, which would enable him to fold the sheet properly. He applied finesse and tenacity with such precision; he became a bit too casual and nearly provided the sheet an opportunity to turn the tables on him. However, he regained his composure and at last the final fold was administered. The sheet whimpered and then lay silent and still. The deed was done.

Originally published on March 24, 2009 on Associated Content / Yahoo Contributor Network (YCN)

© Copyright, Han Van Meegerin – All Rights Reserved

Monday Morning Blues

Pen it or Buck it...