I have decided to introduce a new Sunday feature – Mr Perfect from PerfectTown – to give the voices in my head some sort of outlet. Mr Perfect is my new imaginary friend and I am hoping he will help me explain – and even understand, you never know – some of the things that bug me severely in my life. If you recognise these things give yourself a gold star. If you like my post, give yourself two. And if you comment… well, your thinking is closer to mine than you’d originally thought! And yeah, you can have three stars, too. So, I won’t make you wait any longer.
“Hello. My name is Mr Perfect,” Mr Perfect said, and he left it at that, because his name said it all.
Mr Perfect Lives in PerfectTown, PerfectLand, left side of Earth. The perfect side, that is. At the moment, Mr Perfect is single. He doesn’t believe there is anyone on Earth quite as perfect as he is, and he couldn’t simply hitch up with anyone in the slightest likely to disturb his perfect life.
Mr Perfect’s house is perfect, of course. He has the perfect combination of comfortable furniture and functional items, and the floors are wood, perfectly lacquered, and with just the right number of rugs in perfect patterns, fluffed up to perfection, to compliment every room.
One perfect weekend, Mr Perfect had a very unusual feeling. He peered out the window at the perfectly round, glowing orb of the sun and let his eyes sweep over the horizon – there was not one cloud marring the blue perfection of the sky. Mr Perfect allowed one brow to spoil the perfect symmetry of his face as he thought things through.
What was that feeling twisting his insides into perfect knots? He had never experienced anything of the kind before. That in itself was unsettling. If pushed, he could almost consider it a sign of impending imperfection, and imperfection was something Mr Perfect could not allow to seep into his life.
After taking the perfect amount of time to consider his position, Mr Perfect looked around himself at the absolute perfection of his house and decided something was missing. Ah, that felt better already. The unusual feeling was still bothering him, but now he knew what had caused it and he also knew it was something perfectly understandable (for a perfect person). He would fix this small glitch, and then his world could continue to be perfect.
Mr Perfect picked up his perfect walking stick and doffed his perfect hat – stopping in front of the hallway mirror for just one second to adjust it to a perfect angle – and walked out, closing his house door behind him.
He turned right at the gates and walked purposefully towards the centre of town with even, perfect strides that suited his style perfectly. He didn’t bother looking left or right; other people were not as perfect as he was and it would spoil his perfect mood to allow his eyes to settle on too many imperfections in any one day.
The summer air was a perfect temperature as he rounded the corner onto High Street. As he raised his eyes to cross the road, Mr Perfect’s thoughts were still perfectly focused on the missing something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, the something to complete his perfection. He raised one foot and started the stride that would put him onto the crossing, when WHAM! It hit him!
What do you mean – I can’t stop here? You’ll have a chance to see if he survived next Sunday. Meanwhile, have an easy week at work. See you soon.