Ramblings of a work-deprived housewife caught in the squall of a fan.
Image altered by me via Wikipedia.
To fan or not to fan, a mind-blowing question that mystifies many a sweaty pit misfit.
If it’s hot, you fan. If you admire someone from afar, you are a fan. A fan belt is an antagonistic admirer who whacks someone in the mouth.
I prefer an oscillating fan to an admiring fan. On a hot day, a fan with a breezy attitude offers more relief than admiring someone from afar.
Although, oscillating fans are risk takers, simultaneously spinning and rotating left to right, or vice versa, like a pandering politician.
A stack of papers isn’t safe on a desk with an oscillating fan staring down at it, while also stirring things up. Even with the weight of a hammer resting on a stack of papers, if I had a hammer, one piece would inevitably get away, and it would likely be the most important one – The prince of the pile, leader of the paper platoon. Once the leader falls, the others soon follow, floating haphazardly about, without purpose, on the winds of change.
Now scattered, pieces of the platoon land in a paperless province where some are confined to a maximum-security archive, while others are sentenced to death by shredding.