My Job.

I sat there for hours. Watching. Waiting. She'd be here any second. I knew it was past the time she was usually home.

5:47 pm.

I knew the time, of course. I glanced over to the door again. Nothing. I looked around the room and my eyes caught on him. There he was in the living room, sitting pretty, carefully polished by the cleaner every Tuesday at 2:39 pm. I mean, he would know that, too. My competitor, I thought bitterly to myself. No, no. I couldn't think that way. He was my... friend...? No, not that. I mean, we had never spoken, but she looked at him far more often. He was "a gift inherited from her grandfather". Psshhhhh. Whatever.

5:54 pm.

But he was in great condition. Enviously, I stared at his shining hands, his numbers, the creases all cleaned carefully, grooves free of annoying, uncomfortable dirt. He was tall, taking up space almost to the ceiling, unlike me, sitting like the little lazy tubby I am on the mantel. he could stand on the ground himself. I sighed to myself in my mind.

6:09 pm.

The lock of the front door clicked and she stumbled across the threshold, grocery bags overflowing in her arms. Not a second glance for me before she speed-walked into the kitchen. But hey, she was home.