Each morning, Shannet Kratt was perfectly put together by eight a.m. Mrs. Kratt had perfectly tinted blond hair, never a length too short or too long, but just perfect. If ever one hair should fall out of place, a touch purse spray was just an arms length away.
Every ensemble color coordinated with belts, hose and earrings to be placed on her dainty lobes. Her lipstick was always in agreement with her tanned complexion. Shannet was beautiful, but only of the superficial kind, but all which mattered to Shannet was she looked divine . . . divinely perfect. Her clothes were perfect her make-up was perfect, and the shoes, those were perfect too. There were vast varieties of them, in styles and colors, flat in blue, red, orange, green and yes even tope. Shannet owned spiked heels, mini heels, tennis shoes running shoes, and shoes for all occasions. It was a cornucopia of patent leather heaven.
Shannet was so preoccupied admiring her shoes, which were all kept behind an elaborate, glass closet. She was taken in by their perfect magnificence that she never noticed Clyde packing his clothes on the other side. Swearing and muttering under his breath, his dear perfect wife, Shannet hadn’t any clue as to what Clyde was up to. Slamming his suitcase shut and fastening the locks, Clyde took his suitcase and rumbled off. Only taking notice of the trembling glass case as he was making his escape, Shannet saw him at the door with his suitcase, to the living room she raced. A woebegone expression gracing her face, Shannet said to her husband, “What’s this all about, trembling my case? Haven’t you any decency, are you full of disgrace?” She asked with her hand on her hip. “I’m leaving you, Shannet, and there is nothing you can do! I am through living with perfect and I’m through living with you!” Clyde said this then departed. How dare she love something so inanimate? Perfection isn’t a person, which you can love. It’s only something she invented, that dreadful Shannet.
Late that night after saying his goodbyes, Shannet was left all to her lonesome. While she slept, a dark figure crept, circling her perfect water bed. The dark, creeping thief drove Shannet from her sleep. Shannet leaped up from her bed and was ready to defend. Even in the darkest hours her hair was still quaffed and perfect. “I say back off!” Shannet warned. The thief said nothing back. Shannet ran from the bedroom, the thief stood still, grabbing from the glass cabinet, a pair of spiked heels. The thief hurled them at her one at a time, eventually one stabbing her in her once perfect blue eyes, killing her instantly. The thief approached with silent footsteps. Taking the shoe from the bloody orb, which used to be her eye, the thief threw it to the side. Pulling off his mask, Clyde’s truth was revealed. This was what she got fo being perfectly not. Trading real love in for perfection is an answer to a more twisted fate. The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away, thrill you now, kill you later, is what they should say.