The Boss Of Me

Awakened this morning by a sudden crash and
near complete certainty that Fred Feliney is the
reincarnation of the fellow who ran the trains
in Mussolini's Italy. (which accidently I
first typed as Mousolini).

Fred had cleared everything but the
clock radio from my night table onto the floor.
Not the first time.
I turned over and resumed dozing.

Hardly back in my dream, heard rattling
amongst the items on my jewelry making
desk. The thought of picking up THAT
potential mess, achieved the desired effect.
I was up and out of bed.
Inured to my verbal threats, the Boss of Me
waited patiently through my ablutions.
Then led the parade into the kitchen and breakfast.

Afterwards, took up his post pulling my sleeve when
the kettle boiled.

Poor Fred. It must be awful living with such a slacker.