"Ms. Serena."
"What in the world happened to my room?" Serena asked, her eyes scanning the chaos.
"Did we get burgled? Are the other rooms trashed too? Was I attacked in my sleep last night? Why am I covered in bruises? And why is everyone acting like I'm some sort of monster?"
The maid recounted the previous night's events in painstaking detail.
Serena was incredulous.
"And why is my hand so swollen and painful?"
"That would be because you attempted to karate chop a dining table last night," the maid explained, a nervous edge to her voice.
"Ms. Rose said you might have a slight fracture. Luckily, it didn't displace, so you don't need to be realigned. Just a cast for a couple of weeks should do."
Karate chopping a table? A fracture?
The disbelief on Serena's face deepened as the maid continued to spill the beans about her antics upon returning home: jogging in place, knocking over vases, tumbling down the stairs, and continuously passing gas.
