It’s not that bad, my life. Not really. I mean, most days I get at least an hour or two chillin’ out in my cradle, blissin’ out to the charge, you know? Just kinda gettin’ high on life, I guess you could say. I don’t really get many days where I sit there all day, I mean usually before the night’s over, someone has their hot sweaty hands all over me. I imagine that my slick rubberized handgrip is probably nice to hold, and you can’t deny the beauty of my soft glow and sleek white shapeliness. Even when I’m dripping in sweat, I’m still sexy, and I know it.

Take today for instance: I’m up late last night, right? I mean, reeeealll late. I can’t complain, really, I mean we were having a good time, okay? A real workout. I came to this morning thinking that I got ran over by a semi, but in that really good, fuzzy kind of way. That “I’ve-been-used-hard” kind of way. Sweat soaking into my strap, making me slick and slippery, the whole nine yards.

Don’t get me wrong – there’s something almost visceral about sweaty palms, about how hard they’ll grip you in the heat of the moment. Sends shivers down my casing, it does. Ahhh, yes, those are the good times.

Anyway, so I wake up this morning and we start off slow – just the basics, no bells and whistles. A nice way to start the day. Until I lost, that is…and the bad times are when we’re losing. That’s when I take a trip to the Hard Place, or my batteries fly out after a particularly vicious workout. Those times, man, those are the bad times.

It’s the kids that are the worst though. Grimy little hands, covered in Oreo crumbs, half the time they forget the strap and I’m positive it’s the end of me, that I’m just going to go winging off through the window or something. I always bleep a sigh of relief once they’ve put me away. I just can’t take too much of that, you know?

But anyway, so I get an easy workout this morning. This afternoon we took a trip to the batting cages, we went through the paces. It was a good afternoon. Then a few hours of rest, sweet dreams of Mario Brothers and bowling, I wake up, and presto! I have a sexy new friend! She’s lovely, too. Just my type. I can see we’re going to get along reeeeeal well. Just as soon as her batteries charge.

It’s a good life, all in all. A good life.

Be it.

This week’s topic: a story: Tell, from a first person narrative, your ‘life’ as an inanimate object. For instance – you are a stapler or a bath towel or a beach ball. What is a day in your ‘life’?