Butterflies
For the last two days there have been butterflies squatting in my stomach. It doesn’t seem right to describe a butterfly as squatting - it would be far more elegant to say they are residing in my stomach. But they are habiting without permission and so are therefore squatters.
Every time I think they’ve gone away, they come back. They probably just nip down to the pub for a quick drink or two because whenever they reappear they bring more friends with them. Sociable little blighters. I imagine the post-pub parties going on in my stomach. They’re probably lounging on a makeshift sofa constructed of the toast I had this morning and swigging cans of nectar. There’s probably one telling amusing anecdotes about the stomachs of other people he has tormented.
There’s definitely two or more who are continually arguing. I know this because I can feel them churning the far left corner of my stomach. They’re bashing around and stamping their tiny little feet in a very angry fashion.
There’s probably one responsible butterfly who’s quite annoyed by the habits of her fellow squatters and is trying to persuade them all to calm down. There’s always one of them at parties. This one’s not having much luck although she may have persuaded them to keep their feet off the sofa, I wouldn’t know.
Hopefully they will be out sometime today. Like every other person who has suffered the butterfly squatters, I will wait and see what state they leave me in when they depart.
