In my aunt's office (and it really is an office now, we're almost completely done- we contemplate not having much to do tomorrow, which will be an absolute hardship) there was a shelf. It was a tall shelf. It was wide. It was white. It creaked and groaned and fell apart when you didn't take things off of it with the right amount of tactfulness and courtesy. It's hard to be courteous when you're dead dog tired. And when you moved the shelf, which we did several times, it didn't matter how tactful we were, it fell apart in protest. Like a furniture tantrum.
It's the Evil White Shelf. (I just love my capital letters.) It looms, like some kind of albino vampire, waiting to fall on you. It doesn't matter if you stand just next to it or across the room. Even the other furniture is afraid of it. They shuffle away from the Evil White Shelf, fearing even its touch, in case the falling apart plague is catching. And the Evil White Shelf is wimpy. Load too much- and by too much I mean more than a box per shelf- and it screams in agony. The Evil White Shelf reminds me of a two-year old. It exists to whine and be wimpy.
I hate the Evil White Shelf.
My aunt is also not entirely fond of the Evil White Shelf, but she believed it to be necessary to the happiness and welfare of her office. Every time I said "I want to get rid of the Evil White Shelf," she said "Nooo! Not the Evil White Shelf! I can't survive without it!" (Editors Note: commentary here may vary from actual real conversation in some technical points, but be assured, loyal readers, that our diligent staff of purple giraffes in charge of all abridgment make sure actual meaning is not altered.)
But this afternoon, the final, fatal thing occurred. We unloaded the last things from the Evil White Shelf. We cleaned out the Closet of No End. (Seriously, it took forever to find the floor.) There was no longer a purpose to the Evil White Shelf's continued presence. Aha! I dragged it away to the garage, never to be seen by mortal man again! (I was careful to throw it into a deep dark deadly corner in case my aunt has a relapse and ever considers needing it again.) Of course the Evil White Shelf went out fighting, disintegrating many times on the way to its doom. I laughed and picked and hauled it on, refusing all pleas of half measures, where it might conceivably edge its way into good graces again.
I am absolutely merciless when it comes to bad furniture.
P.S- I offer no pictures of the Evil White Shelf, because it's already in the garage and anyway it doesn't deserve to be so honored. And you know what the Evil White Shelf looks like. You have one in your own home... waiting... watching... biding its time until it can hold something important and fall apart again...