The Terrycloth Avalanche

I tiptoed across the bedroom bench to inspect a towering stack of freshly folded, lavender-scented washcloths. It was unmistakably a multi-tiered luxury resort, and I was fully entitled to the penthouse suite. Gripping the embroidered hem of a ribbed hand towel, I prepared to ascend with effortless grace. But the architecture betrayed me! The topmost washcloth slowly tilted forward, tumbling down in a fluffy avalanche that pinned my hem beneath a mountain of warm cotton. I gasped, flinging both hands toward the ceiling at the sheer domestic audacity of uncooperative linen. Excavating myself was far too vulgar an exertion... so I simply leaned back into the folded terrycloth and suffered in plush defeat... *sighhh*.