Thus, I died

Posted By Jim Scott on Feb 22, 2019 |

So I’m standing in line at the Pearly Gates (Yes me!), and the guy behind me asks, ‘How did you die?’  I was killed by a ball of wool, my friend.  I’ll explain what occurred as best I can, my fellow traveler.  Once upon a time while vacationing in Nova Scotia, we ventured into a wool dispensary.  Why?  Because it was there.  My wife decides that we simply must have not one, not two, not even three, but four magical wool balls.  If you are not familiar with the legend of the wool ball, then allow me to enlighten you.  These fabled furry fixtures are placed in the clothes dryer as a greener solution to dryer sheets (which have also tried to kill me, by the way).  Clothes were started in the wash early this morning, and I said that I would place them in the dryer with the magical wool balls when the wash cycle had completed.  I did so, and once the drying process completed, I removed the dry clothes and took them to the living room that they might be folded and put away at a later time.  One (among many) annoying habits of these accursed balls is that they like to stow away in a pants’ leg or some other means of concealment.  I retrieved the mischievous wooly creations, but two of the escapees evaded my grasp and hurled themselves to the floor.  Stepping backward to capture these diabolical bastards I found myself in a precarious and outnumbered situation.  For you see, upon their escape these spherical harpies bounced off the cabinet behind me and mounted an attack.  They charged me with such ferociousness and in such great number that while merely attempting to return them to the safety of the dryer I stepped on them.   To thwart my attempts to secure them, they shoved my foot from beneath me.  I attempted to steady myself by stepping back with the other foot, but the other escapee from hell was prepared and charged placing himself in the path of my safety.  Finding myself unable to maintain adequate footing and having been ripped away from Mother Earth, I fell backward over the aforementioned knee-level cabinet (which had been a worthy adversary itself during my passing in the middle of the night in a darkened room).  I was hurled mightily towards the floor where I lay awaiting the approach of Charon to ferry me across the river to the land of the dead.  Before my last death shutter and possibly out of some momentary sense of remorse one of the two rebellious woolen balls rolled back to me and brushed my arm, perhaps to offer a bit of comfort, but more likely to claim victory on behalf of woolen ball kind.  Thus, I died.