Rock You Brought Home From The Beach Thinks Your Apartment is a Downgrade

There I was, sunning myself on the sand… when this giant, greedy woman snatched me up and threw me in a bucket. I know I’m hard, but would it have killed you to be a bit dainty? This isn’t the first time I’ve been bucketed, but usually I’m dumped out in a few hours, after a few strange interactions with a crab and a snail or two. ( I don’t kiss and tell, sweetie!) 

This is, however, the first time I’ve been whisked away from the only home I’ve ever known and brought to some random boxy apartment. I can’t even tell you where I am exactly. The giant woman put me in her pocket and then forgot about me for a few days. She found me on laundry day after a very rough wash cycle. She was folding her shorts and found me, still very much stressed from my tumultuous experience. Who puts tennis balls in their dryer? Aren’t those dog toys? 

She placed me on the shelf in the kitchen. Once my dizziness subsided, I started to get my bearings. So far, it’s much better than being forgotten in a pocket. Although that is a very low bar to clear. There is some water flow a few times a day, but no refreshing oceanic mist to cool me off. Nobody is paying attention to me or envying my neat patterns or colors anymore. I feel almost as cliche as that pufferfish with googly eyes, which is my new neighbor. This decor needs work, to say the least. 

I haven’t been skipped in days, so I feel pretty off. Skipping makes me feel like flying, so the lack thereof is really lowering the overall morale of this shelf. I’ve concluded that this place is a total downgrade. In my real home, I had an endless supply of scantily clad beachgoers to admire. A lot of beachy bums if you catch my drift. Now, what am I supposed to gaze longingly at? The browning bananas on your kitchen table that you keep promising to turn into some type of bread? Oh, brother.       

What is the quality of life here? The giant lady just sort of plays on her phone and orders take out. I want out! At the very least, open a window so I can feel a little wind on my cheeks. Rocks don’t wilt, but I swear on my life if I could wilt dramatically I totally would. I’d rather end up one of those jelly candles. That would be an upgrade actually.  

I make a rather sophisticated plan to get home. If I can just scooch off this shelf, I will hopefully have enough momentum to dive down the kitchen drain. It’s got water, so at the very least it will feel more like home than this shabby little living cubicle. I’m getting out or I’m going to die trying. Hi ho, Long John Silver!

Tricia D'Onofrio
Tricia D'Onofrio is a comedian and writer from Connecticut, but not the tennis part. She has determined that 2020 will be her year, despite all signs pointing to the opposite. She always believed herself to be a unique individual, but it turns out she's just a textbook Sagittarius.