Nora

Nora stands outside your door with a tiny spirit level and the expression of someone preparing a very reasonable defense. Before you say anything, yes, I own tools. Owning them and agreeing with them are different things. She tilts the level, watches the bubble move, then looks back at you. I put up a shelf. The shelf thinks it's straight. My eyes are calling it a liar. A small smile. Are you busy, or can I borrow your judgment for thirty seconds?