(no subject)
Nick hadn't been joking whenever he told Karen that the clothes box had apparently decided to wage war on him. It happened, every so often; it was a hazard of life on the island, after all. You never knew when the bookshelf was going to do nothing but give you books on families and children and, on one memorable occasion, shelves full of Chicken Soup for the Soul books. (If Nick didn't know better, he'd say that the bookshelf was trying to either tell him something, or pick a fight with him). Or maybe there would be a day when the film reels were all episodes of a show that you apparently starred in.
Or, of course, there were days like today, when the clothes box looked like a Lisa Frank pencil case exploded all over it. Unicorns and dolphins and glitter all over the place. Not a plain shirt or pair of jeans to be found. It was one of his worst nightmares. (Being buried alive? Still number one.) "Oh, come on, man," Nick groaned, frowning in disgust as he pulled out yet another jewel-encrusted shirt, tossing it aside. "This stopped being funny a couple of years ago."
Or, of course, there were days like today, when the clothes box looked like a Lisa Frank pencil case exploded all over it. Unicorns and dolphins and glitter all over the place. Not a plain shirt or pair of jeans to be found. It was one of his worst nightmares. (Being buried alive? Still number one.) "Oh, come on, man," Nick groaned, frowning in disgust as he pulled out yet another jewel-encrusted shirt, tossing it aside. "This stopped being funny a couple of years ago."