Scaling the Wooden Ridge

Standing around on the rug got boring fast. I spotted the wooden ridge of the coffee table looming right above me, looking like a championship turnbuckle. No warm-up needed—I took three hard stomping strides, grabbed a dangling woven coaster, and hauled myself up with one clean heave. Right in the middle sat a ceramic mug like a giant brass trophy. I slapped my hand against the cool, glossy side with a solid thud. It didn't budge an inch, but now I’ve got the high ground, looking out over the whole room!