Since you last heard from me, I have moved to a small town outside of London, where I will stay for the next five months while studying at a university in the very central centre of London itself. It has all been very hectic and elating and time consuming and awesome and confusing - which does not at all explain how I have also, since you last heard from me, done everything mentioned in the title above.
I could, of course, tell you what happened and how I dealt with it and how that really only made it worse - but instead I will tell you how I told my hostess, whose chair was the victim in this horrible crime.
I less than proudly present:
This handwritten modern day fairy tale took up three whole pages - strategically placed somewhere they would certainly be found, but not until I was well out of the house.
This is the story as my hostess read it, directly transcribed to you:
The thing about the chair
- A true story
So. Once upon a time, a red haired girl traveled out into the world. It was a bit daunting, perhaps, but not as scary as that, because the girl had been taken in by the nice lady and her nice son.
Nice Lady - Son - Weird tall man who also sometimes lived there
No sooner had the girl settled in the house than the nice lady came knocking on the door.
“Oh dear,” said the nice lady when she saw the girl sitting at her desk. “That simply will not do!”
Luckily, the nice lady was a woman of swift action, so she immediately switched the girl’s stool with a nice, green chair. The chair.
The girl really liked the chair, and while she would never say so to the nice lady, she did sit in a much better position now.
But alas! No real fairy tale has a happy ending, and thus it came to pass that the girl ruined the chair so generously bestowed upon her. See, the girl was a clumsy one, and as she was shaving in the shower, her fingers slipped and the razor cut into her skin.
Blood was dripping, but the girl felt no fear, for she knew that it would soon stop. She finished her shower, dried herself and put on her soft new pajamas pants. Not only clumsy, but also prone to early dementia, the girl had already forgotten about the wound she got in the battle of the Unruly Hair. Humming happily, she went to her room and sat down by the desk.
She sat down. By the desk.
When exactly it happened, the girl could not say. But when next she glanced at the chair, two drops of blood were staring back at her, like snake’s eyes. While both clumsy and forgetful, the girl was not dimwitted. She immediately understood what had happened, and the embarrassment alone was enough to make her consider calling it a night and just run back where she came from.
She scrubbed furiously at the stains, with anything she had at hand – hot water, cold water, soap, shampoo, facial tissues. Had the girl not been so embarrassed, she might have braved the stairs and turned off the alarm, but the girl would not risk waking the nice lady and having to explain why she needed the magical Blood Be Gone ™.
For all her furiousness, the girl’s scrubbing amounted to nothing. It only served to make the chair wet and… wait, what was that? Did the largest stain not seem a little brighter in the middle?
Certainly so. The girl had been so insistent in her rubbing cloth against chair that the very fabric of the pretty green seat had begun to give way.
“Good,” the girl thought feverishly. “This is good. White is better than red. No one will notice white!”
Spurred forward by this breakthrough, she grabbed the scissors and…
No no. She grabbed. The scissors.
And started scraping them against the stained area ever so lightly. If she could just damage the threads enough to make them appear white, it might even out.
However, the girl was as clumsy as she was full of good ideas – and scissors are about as dangerous as razors when she has to maneuver them.
She is really, really sorry, though, and will pay for any repairs. She does rather feel like a fool for ruining the chair x 2 and not having the courage to tell the nice lady…