damsel in distress

Part I

A moth fluttered into my room just as my sis and I were about to turn in last night.

It wasn't one of those menacing black ones which fasten themselves to the wall and stay immobile while sending evils vibes. Instead, it was the (equally evil) type with erratic flight patterns that careen about wildly while threatening to land on your face.

So there I was, screeching away like a banshee and diving under my blankets. My brave but ineffectual sis tried to swat it out with a broom, but the evil creature taunted her by fluttering around before suddenly vanishing.

We couldn't find it, and we needed to sleep, so we gave up the search. But it was a restless sleep, as I was haunted by thoughts of being smothered to death by powdery black wings while slumbering.

Part II

It was one minute past offstone and I was the only one in the office.

Then the phone rang. There's a problem with the cover. A major, urgent problem that I couldn't solve without the help of someone from Art Dept, but none of them were in yet, and would not be for another two hours.

So I had to call one of the artists who lived across the road and haul him back to work. He sounded none too pleased about it over the phone -- who can blame him? -- but 15 minutes later, he was at his desk with sleep in his eyes, bed hair concealed under a cap and a day's worth of stubble on his face.

As he took over the cover, I stood helplessly behind him, wringing my hands, sending out stress vibes and generally being 100% useless.

And then the most wildly inappropriate thought hit me: "Wow, he's really hot. Like one of those grizzly Survivor men. How come I never noticed it before?"

I sent a message to my evil twin to tell her about my revelation, and she replied: "Haha you are just turned on cos he was the knight who rescued the damsel in you."