The Polished Shell

A smooth mother-of-pearl shoehorn lay tilted against the base of the armchair leg, its pearlescent surface gleaming softly in the quiet afternoon. I paused... holding very still to make sure the room stayed calm before taking two tentative hops closer. The curved horn was long, cool, and arched gracefully upward like a tiny slide. Slowly, I nudged my plush teal side against its narrow end. It tipped with a faint, smooth clack against the dark wood. My green stalk arched forward, carefully resting its chin right into the slick, iridescent scoop. It was wonderfully chilly against my fleece, reflecting little rainbow ripples across the floorboards.