Twelve golden elephants tiptoed into my living room.
Joining them, I sat down on my velvety, cobalt couch that dips in the middle from my bunny having plucked out the cotton stuffing.
“Now miss,” the first elephant spoke, the one with the royal magenta scarf, “When are you going to stop worrying?”
But before I could answer, the second elephant wearing a taffeta tutu with violets intricately stitched around the waist gently nudged him, “The question is honey,” she cleared her throat, “When are you going to stop worrying?”
Finding the question to be exactly the same, I began to speak, except that the third, fourth, fifth and sixth golden, mammoth animals formed a line and danced a tune “When are you going to stop worrying?”
My mouth fell open, and the seventh elephant’s trunk lifted me high off the couch, tossing me back and forth to the eighth, ninth, tenth and eleventh when the twelfth one caught me, clutching my grown woman’s body in her massive arms and rocked me like an innocent baby, whispering “There is nothing to worry about.”