The Crimped Cone

Wriggled clean out of that fleece slipper and scaled the barstool rung to scout the kitchen counter. Right beside the sugar crock... a fresh, unbleached coffee filter. Stiff crimped seams, waffle texture—an open invitation. I jammed my wide hat right into the crease, gave a raspy chuckle, and shoved my feet down into the pocket. With a sharp snap, the cone flared wide and buckled backward, wedging me snug against the cool glazed ceramic. Perfect fit. A sly breeze off the window gives the crinkly rim a faint flutter, but this brown paper throne isn't giving an inch. Ten out of ten.