this is the story of my retainer and how I lost it.
I had woken up prematurely in order to go to work at the nursery with a bunch of squealing, baby children who like to steal toys and whine and make me play with legos. Of course, I was not excited. I didn't have enough time to brush my teeth, and my retainer, Waldo, felt gross, so I took him out of my mouth and left him.
Upon returning home, smelling of stale cheerios and teen angst, I trudge my aching body upstairs and collapse in my bed. There's a pain in my upper thigh, and at first I'm too tired to care. Then I decide that there must be something under my thigh (my bed is the home of several shirts, dresses, books, gum wrappers, a pay check, a dollar, and poptarts wrappers), and it turns out to be Waldo. I push him out from under my thigh, pull up the covers, and fall asleep.
Upon waking up, I fling the blanket off myself, unaware of the time or where I am. Disoriented and still exhausted, I hear a "clunk!" and discover Waldo MISSING.
Still exhausted, I'm too tired to care about the missing Waldo and trudge downstairs. I eat or something. I dance or something. I watch TV or something. Hard to say for sure, but eventually I walk back upstairs and realize, "Fuck. I don't have Waldo."
There is no conclusion for this blog, as Waldo is still lost, somewhere in my room. Perhaps he was eaten by my pillows. Maybe the rats under my bed decided to take it as their captive until I fulfill their ridiculous demands (they want an 24 hour all-you-can-eat ice cream buffet, and also all the pigeons to return to their rightful place on land. Either that or they want to have wings... yeah right, you filthy rats). I'm not sure where he is. I can only hope he's safe, waiting for the reunion with my mouth...
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This has been my 100th blog post. Now I'm going to look for Waldo.
Upon returning home, smelling of stale cheerios and teen angst, I trudge my aching body upstairs and collapse in my bed. There's a pain in my upper thigh, and at first I'm too tired to care. Then I decide that there must be something under my thigh (my bed is the home of several shirts, dresses, books, gum wrappers, a pay check, a dollar, and poptarts wrappers), and it turns out to be Waldo. I push him out from under my thigh, pull up the covers, and fall asleep.
Upon waking up, I fling the blanket off myself, unaware of the time or where I am. Disoriented and still exhausted, I hear a "clunk!" and discover Waldo MISSING.
Still exhausted, I'm too tired to care about the missing Waldo and trudge downstairs. I eat or something. I dance or something. I watch TV or something. Hard to say for sure, but eventually I walk back upstairs and realize, "Fuck. I don't have Waldo."
There is no conclusion for this blog, as Waldo is still lost, somewhere in my room. Perhaps he was eaten by my pillows. Maybe the rats under my bed decided to take it as their captive until I fulfill their ridiculous demands (they want an 24 hour all-you-can-eat ice cream buffet, and also all the pigeons to return to their rightful place on land. Either that or they want to have wings... yeah right, you filthy rats). I'm not sure where he is. I can only hope he's safe, waiting for the reunion with my mouth...
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This has been my 100th blog post. Now I'm going to look for Waldo.
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