Everyday Objects
I stand in a room but never take a step. I have a face, yet no eyes. Press me once, and darkness runs away. What am I?
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I ride in a pocket, yet I never walk. I open a door without using a hand. What am I?
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I hug your waist but never hold you close. I have a tongue, yet I never speak. What am I?
I sit in a corner and swallow what you no longer need. What am I?
I’m a little crowd that lives in your pocket. Push one of us, and we speak without a voice. What are we?
I have a twin beside me. Together we open a path, but alone I only wait. What am I?
I sit beside you when you rest, hold a small world at arm’s reach, and vanish into a wall when I’m not needed. What am I?
I hang around when you need a hand, but I never lift a thing. I have five empty fingers and no bones. What am I?
I hug your papers without tape or glue. I bend my two arms back to let go. What am I?
I carry your weight all day, yet I never take a step. I rest beneath you, but when I am worn through, you notice me everywhere. What am I?
I sit on a desk and beat without hands. I grow quieter as I work, yet when I stop, people rush to find me. What am I?
I have a mouth but never eat. I welcome keys, yet I am not a door. Turn what enters me, and a room becomes private. What am I?
I live in a pot but never need a drink. I hold a sharp secret and make loose things stay together. What am I?
I stand by the door and swallow wet footprints, but I never take a step. What am I?
I have a mouth but never eat, a handle but no hand, and I hold a warm secret until you take a sip. What am I?
I have one face that welcomes you in and another that sends you away. I swing without walking, and I keep a room private without saying a word. What am I?
I travel from room to room without feet, carry no luggage, and leave nothing behind. You open me to let me in, then close me to keep me out. What am I?
I travel with your keys but open no lock. I hold your name, yet I cannot speak. I circle your finger only when I am not on your keys. What am I?
I stand beside your plate but never eat. I wear a coat yet have no arms. I may hold a storm, though I never make it rain. What am I?
I help you open doors, but the more I help, the smaller I become. What am I?
I stand beside you all day, copying every move you make. Yet I disappear the moment you need me in the dark. What am I?
