Last night was the fabled night of bathroom-shelf-putting-together. It was foretold a mere week ago. I lost my nerve.

Brenda appeared to me in a scandalous state of undress. Clad in only her underwear and a determined expression, she grabbed a power drill and looked ever the Devil personified. I knew she would sweat. I knew she would scowl. I knew she would scare little children who would undoubtedly see her through the large bay window. I tucked tail and ran.

Wrinkled satin and dingy lace might just be the motif of Hell. This is how I found my aunt hours later, 3 screws protruding from between her puckered lips. She looked wild-eyed and fierce with her gleam of sweat and her mastery with the power tool.

I was happy to have escaped.