319 - Weeeee!


The tiny plastic packages of the single-serving chocolate bars you enjoy so much litter the floor of your stairwell so thoroughly that as you pass up the stairwell to the bathroom they make a sound under your feet not unlike that of fallen leaves in a rarely-travelled wood. Each time walk between the floors of your two-story house you’ve made a point to enjoy one of the sweet little treats – don’t want to burn any fat; sumo season’s right around the corner. You leave the wrappers on the carpeted steps as a reminder of the hard work you’ve put in to reach the top of Rhode Island’s sumo scene: a long, hard road paved with sacrifice and painted with icing.

On the last step before you reach the landing on the second floor hall, your foot slips and you tumble forward. Luckily, your lightning-fast sumo reflexes and four hundred pound athletic physique allow you to break your fall with minimal effort. It will take more than a slip-and-fall to topple the mountain of lard and muscle you’ve sculpted around your straining skeleton.

You adjourn your business in the restroom and return to the stairwell, retrieving the return-trip chocolate from the pocket of your 4XL cotton bathrobe. You stop at the top of the steps and drop the wrapper, watching it weave its way through the still air, dancing like the feather of a molting bird until it comes to the ground. It does not come to rest, however, as it hits its torn and empty brothers on the carpeted stair; instead, it slides down the incline formed by the husks of its forebears smoothly, like a child on a toboggan riding down a hill covered in powdery, freshly fallen snow.

This gives you an idea.

You crouch into a deep squat at the edge of the landing. Your considerable bottom quivers inches away from the wrappery stairs. You jut forward, landing on the wrappers with your buttocks and slide down rapidly. The modest stair gives you time enough for a quick “weeee!” before you reach the bottom, crashing into the wall in front of you with the force of, well, a four hundred pound man.

The sheetrock never stood a chance. On the bright side, you have a brand new nook in your wall into which you can throw your wrappers.