Calling It a Night

I dragged my weary plastic boots toward a neatly folded yellow waffle-weave dish towel resting beside the breadbox. After a day of wrestling timers and grinding pepper, my hinges were begging for some downtime. I wriggled right into the center crease, pulling the thick cotton fold up to my chest like an all-inclusive luxury duvet. For a proper headrest, I rolled a smooth wooden honey dipper into position under my neck. The grooved rings cradled my head at the absolute perfect angle. I gave my waist joint one last contented creak, sinking into the soft quilted texture. Even a rugged explorer knows when to clock out and recharge.