Pedestal Appraisal

You may be shocked by this, and I hate to disturb your tranquil beliefs, but the truth must be told. Recently, I grew tired of my pedestal.

I was standing one day when the realization struck that I was not dancing anymore. My feet had quite lost their spring. I had begun to gaze upon the huddled hand-holding masses below, wishing, with wistful sigh, that one might come and extend a gallant hand to assist my descent from my perch. The breeze was no longer refreshing; it was cold. I ceased to take pleasure in conversing with my fellow pedestal dwellers. The expansive view afforded me from my height was bleak and stark. In short, I had listened to far more Michael Buble than is considered healthy for a young unattached person of my disposition.

I had come so far in thought as to nearly wish myself off and away from my pedestal, and, had this ennui remained unchecked, I cannot say where it would have stopped. Perhaps never-- perhaps my mad career would have ended in a general smash-up somewhere along the line-- save for an Unpleasant Experience, which, though grossly offensive and quite perturbing, had the effect of removing the scales from my eyes.

I cannot enumerate, I cannot be explicit, as to the precise details of this Unpleasant Encounter. I can only make vague allusions to tire swings, boxer shorts, and cow patties. Suffice to say that it was enough to send me springing to my feet again on my pedestal, rejoicing in my state.

All of my female readers will acknowledge the existence of Creepy Fellows. The kind that cause a clenching in your throat and a leaden heaviness in your gut; the sort that cannot take a hint and do not understand sarcasm; the ones who are past masters in the Art of Lurkery. It was such a one that was the source, the wellspring, of my Unpleasant Experience. It was weird and awkward and provoking--and yet there has come some good out of it.

Rejoice with me, one and all, for I have discovered the use of the Creepy Fellow. They are of some good, after all. It was the Creeper that led me to appraise my pedestal. I took a good, long, hard look at where I stood and where I wanted to stand. My discoveries were of interest.
Though my pedestal has fallen into some disrepair of late, it is nothing that cannot be handily mended. As for the location, where better? I have a commanding view of humanity in general, excellent company, and a brisk and bracing breeze to spur on my dance.

Presently there is nearly nothing that could tempt me from my pedestal. I had something of a scare, in that instead of a gentlemanly, gracious, great-heart to persuade me from my post, I was beckoned to by a sinister and macabre spectre. This is all new for me, and my reaction is to cling leechlike to my state of single blessedness.

In sum, my pedestal is good enough for me, and will be for a long while yet. I may owe a debt of thanks to the Creeper, but I think that for the frightful discourtesy with which he destroyed a cherished illusion or two of mine, we can all it even.