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Ducks,
This duck was alight to hear the results of the election. But the days leading up to it were ducking stressful. That's why, desperately needing to chill the duck out, I decided to meditate on the pond—safely wearing my beak-mask, of course.
But you know what they do in those Calm App meditations? In the background, they play the sounds of birds and rippling water. It's de-ducking-lightful.
Problem is, when this duck hears the sound of birds and rippling water, he's usually paddling around on the pond. So, during the meditation, eyes closed, I auto-paddle. Which, it turns out, is a great way to calmly end up embedded, beak-first, in the sludgy edge of the pond.
Duck-darn, this beak-brain was stuck. It took Swan Juan, Head of Emergency Pond Services, twenty minutes to de-beak me.
So, the next time I meditated, I did so on the couch—the rose-print couch that my partner Peacock Riley chose a year ago. But I'm still on the Calm App, and there's still the ducking sound of birds and water in the background, so your truly auto-paddles again. And when I'm done with the meditation, sure, I haven't moved. But the rose-print under my flippers is a wee bit fainter, as if the sun's been shining on that patch for thirteen years.
Flipper-burn, we call it. My flippers had paddled like fire.
In response to the worn-away patch, Peaock Riley put the "peeved" in "peacock." They're very, very particular about soft furnishings. So now, when we sit on the couch, I have to settle my butt right over the faded patch, so as not to interrupt Riley's view of the Laura Ashley patterning.
This way, Riley's happy, and if I use enough cushions, I'm happy too. Bingo.
We also solved the meditation problem. If I am going to meditate on the rose-print couch, yours truly, a yoga genius, will meditate on his head.
Over and out,
Duck