Have you ever come home exhausted from a trip
to the grocery store right before Thanksgiving,
having fought crowds of last-minute shoppers
and carried in bag after bag of ingredients for
the feast—and dropped the bag of flour you just
bought to make pie crusts? The whoompf when
it lands, the explosion of powder that covers
everything and hangs in the air for hours so,
as soon as you finish cleaning, every surface is
once more covered in a white film that turns to
glue when it comes in contact with water...?
as soon as you finish cleaning, every surface is
once more covered in a white film that turns to
glue when it comes in contact with water...?
You are that everlasting cloud.
Have you ever stumbled into the kitchen to make
coffee at some ungodly hour, barely able to see,
only to find a damp mass of yesterday’s grounds
fermenting in the brewing basket? Wrinkling your
nose at the oddly ashtray-like odor as you upend
the filter into the trash, you manage to miss the bag
entirely. Fine grains of wet coffee scatter, bead-like,
onto your bare feet and the kitchen floor, finding
the most arbitrary and unreachable hiding spots,
and crunching underfoot for days...?
You are those day-old grounds.
Have you ever invited a friend to dinner at your
new home, freshly decorated in airy shades of cream
and white, shown him to your favorite Italian-leather
chair, handed him a glass of pinot noir, and watched
in horror as he spilled it? He offered to pay all of the
cleaning bills, but you graciously refused and, when
he returned for another soirée, he exclaimed about
how everything looked as good as new! (Because, you
did not say, it is.). Once again, he relaxed into his seat,
and once more his blood-red wine landed with a
sickening splat on your white wool carpet, thin purple
veins trickling down the buttery sides of your chair.
Have you gritted your teeth, reassured him, replaced
your chair and carpet again—and then invited that
same careless friend back to your pristine home for
another evening of wine and cheese? No?
new home, freshly decorated in airy shades of cream
and white, shown him to your favorite Italian-leather
chair, handed him a glass of pinot noir, and watched
in horror as he spilled it? He offered to pay all of the
cleaning bills, but you graciously refused and, when
he returned for another soirée, he exclaimed about
how everything looked as good as new! (Because, you
did not say, it is.). Once again, he relaxed into his seat,
and once more his blood-red wine landed with a
sickening splat on your white wool carpet, thin purple
veins trickling down the buttery sides of your chair.
Have you gritted your teeth, reassured him, replaced
your chair and carpet again—and then invited that
same careless friend back to your pristine home for
another evening of wine and cheese? No?
Well, my friend, neither have I.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: roegger/Pixabay
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