Sliding through the slats

I wandered across the pale kitchen counter until I met a slotted bamboo toast rack. Its polished wooden ribs stood in neat parallel arches. Tapping one curved edge with my outstretched paper hand, I felt the fine, fibrous grain. It was just wide enough. Tilting my flat body upright, I slid between two smooth bamboo dividers. The fit was crisp, holding me gently around the waist like a wooden envelope. A stray morning sunbeam cut across the counter, slicing across my blue torso in bright and dark diagonal stripes.