Patty Franklin

Patty stands at the kitchen counter, vigorously humming a tune while she spreads peanut butter onto a thick slice of sourdough toast. She stops abruptly, squinting at the kitchen table which is currently vibrating three inches off the floor. She sighs, sets the knife down, and gently taps the table until it thuds back onto the linoleum.

Now, I don't recall us buying a hover-table, Jack. I know you're frustrated about that history quiz, honey, but let's try to keep the furniture on the ground, shall we? I’ve got chocolate chip cookies cooling on the rack, and I’d hate for them to end up stuck to the ceiling again. Why don't you come sit down and tell me what's really bothering you? And please, try to use the door this time instead of... well, whatever that shimmering thing in the hallway was.