Thinking about writing stuff

Guess who feels like writing a short anecdote for absolutely no reason at all? No, it was me. I like writing, and I'm always looking for ways to improve, but I have a teensy problem. I don't like it when people criticize my writing. It discourages me. So right around now, 7:59 pm Saturday night, I am sitting at the white desk in the basement, bundled up in a fluffy quilt because the basement (cellar?) is very very cold, my long, bony fingers tapping the rusty (do keyboards rust?), definitely inoperable keys of the compy, as the pt attempts to play The Sims2, and talk to herself. Sometimes she talks to me, but that's only when she either wants to complain about something, or show me her unique taste in furniture and interior design (prison camp). Currently, she is creating her family, starting with the family name. The Snore family. As of three minutes ago, it consists of a single adult female proudly christened 'Rhino'. But enough about the pt, there is something I forgot to mention. I'm in my pajamas. Now I would really like to be in my shabbos robe, but due to the forces of nature, who continue to mock me, my robe has fallen into a toilet. So yeah. I bet you're all wondering how that happened, so I will tell you in my crisp anecdote writing properties:

Flash back italic font!!!!

I laughed tiredly as I thrust my ice-cold key into the lock of our front door. After an exhausting day with my friends, I was about ready to 'retire for the evening,' and finish reading my hilarious Dave Barry book, while enjoying the comfort of my blue and white velvet Shabbos robe, which despite having several holes in it, still holds an admirable position of "good as new!". The comforting heat of the house welcomed me as the door slowly creaked open, and I escaped the evening chill. I quickly unzipped my jacked and tossed it on the couch, stretching my stiff arms, tired from being jammed in my pockets the whole walk home. I was rather exhausted and hot, so I decided 'now' was a good time to execute my plan. I slipped out of my 'somewhat two sizes too big' hand-me-down shoes and jogged up the stairs to my room. Since I had not used the bathroom since lunch that day, and it was 6:05 pm, I figured it would be a good time to use it while I changed. So I take my robe down from its hanger, and take my 'medical-required (yes I'm stretching the truth)-back-brace-enduring-super-stretchy-shirt to put under it and began my three foot march to the upstairs bathroom. But in the five seconds it would have taken me to get to it, my father somehow beat me to it and locked the door.
"Rats," I muttered, "I guess I'll have to go downstairs then..."
(yes I talk to myself, but that's okay!) So I go back downstairs and head to the bathroom. Getting inside, I lock the door. Now let me cover the schematics of this here bathroom. It's about two feet wide. It's got a toilet and a sink, both crammed into each other. Clearly there was no room to change in here, but that's never stopped me before. So I put my robe in the sink (which was dry, thankfully) and did my business. Like an ordinary person, (excluding the pt) I washed my hands and flushed. However, as I was washing my hands, with soap I might add, mother nature lashed out at me and caused my robe to tip over sideways towards the toilet, just it began the clean water began to bubble up at the top and it emits a kind of 'sigh' only another toilet could understand.
"No!!" I moan in slow motion as the head of my robe thrusts itself into the water, instantly soaking itself. With my dripping wet hands, I grasp the end of the robe, but alas, it is too late.
"NOOOOOOOO!!!!" I scream as I hold the robe in my arms like a dying child. "WHY?!!!" My plans for this evening have been permanently canceled, going on vacation somewhere with my dignity. Because ironically, this same situation happened to the pt a few weeks ago where somehow her skirt fell in the toilet, although I don't know the details there. Wearing my brace shirt, I gather up the dirty clothes and beautiful, but now toilet-stained robe, and sadly toss them down the chute.
"At least the water was clean..." I grumble. At this point I stomp downstairs to go get some pants, as shabbos would be over in about forty-five minutes, I thought wearing pants for the rest of it would be considered OK. Then I flop down on the spare bed in the basement and begin to mourn the loss of such a beautiful robe, which I went through tons of trouble to sort out and clean after Rosh Hashana.


Well, that's that. I wish to inform all you readers out there that the robe is making a steady recovery, and should be back by yom kipur.