Thomas sauntered the grounds of his estate, watching the family of ducks waddling into his pond just so. Maids, groundskeepers, and a fleet of private chefs ensured that every inch of the property was sanitized just the way Mr. Crapper liked it.
He had made his millions not from a love of invention but a seething hatred for the smell of his own crap. He wanted to be rid of it, banish it into the underworld! And so, he invented early forms of plumbing, holding nine patents, and an iron grip on your shit. But now he was synonymous with the one thing he hated most in this world. Oh, destiny, you cruel bitch.
To compensate for this reputation, he became obsessed with cleanliness, never deigning to shake hands with common folk he perceived as dirty. The ducks were his only true friends. He admired their cleanliness and how they groomed each other. Thomas quacked a morning hello, as beads of dew dripped off their waterproof wings.
This is a Friday newsletter. Each week I pick a new word I’m trying to learn, then use it in a short story. Suggest a word in the comments. See ya next week wordos!