Sarah laughs at me because it seems that no matter where I walk, if it's dark I will invariably step on a toy of some variety. And if I'm trying to be especially quiet, the toy will of course be one that makes a loud noise of some sort. But it's not my fault. No really. See, there are these evil toy elves living in our house. And their sole purpose is to watch my every step, anticipating my path, and then, while giggling their gleefully wicked laughs, strategically place a toy right beneath my feet. I'll be walking along, innocently minding my own business and not a toy in sight. And before I know it, my foot comes down on a toy guitar where only seconds before was open floor space.
They're quick, these elves are. And quiet, too. I've never seen them yet. But I just know they're there, plotting my demise.
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