September 6, 2007: Wilbo of the Nine Fingers
I don't like glass.
I don't think it watches me or whispers vicious rumors about me in the night or anything--I just think it is a stupid material in today's Age of Plastic.
Plus I'm really not good with it. I break it a lot. Mostly on accident because it tends to be thin and all too susceptible to gravity's ravages.
We have a cabinet full of glass tumblers which I've convinced Aimee that we might as well just get rid of before the move (because, after all, I've already broken half of them). So today I was quietly packing them to be recycled when one leaped out of the cabinet and shattered all over the counter, slicing my hand in the process.
It had to get in one last shot at me, I guess.
