Armpit Entanglement

My hand was one with my armpit (as it often is when cold) I struggled to extricate it as the alarm sounded four times, five times, six times.... I raised the piece of 2-by-4 above my shoulder, poised to swat that swaggering brown mouse, who had dared to interupt me in the garden shed, as I applied parsley to my forhead, which I "borrowed" from the post office, on my way through from the bank, where I had gone to retrieve a blue plastic and aluminum dining chair propped up against the shelf, which was actually my six-year-old brother in disguise, who had taken cover inside the first shop he came to after running across the road, where I had been nonchalently standing, shortly after disembarking a space shuttle/hover-craft/all terrain vehicle driven by an old pastor who was showing my family the sights of some imaginary city.

But then I managed to revive the sleeping fingers and drag them from their axillial-bedchamber long enough to hit snooze.