The Wobbly Spatula

I marched back into the house before the library doors locked me out, heading straight for the dark kitchen. Right beside the ceramic crock sat a broad silicone spatula resting over a crooked rolling pin. An absurd, slanted ramp. I hoisted my heavy boots up, stomped onto the flexible gray rubber blade, and felt the whole thing sag and pitch sideways toward the granite. Give up? Absolutely not. I locked my spindly knees, threw my weight hard against the bend, and dug my massive soles down until the rubber slapped flat across the counter with a loud thud. With the nonsense subdued, I braced my back against the heavy ceramic crock, crossed my arms, and took post.