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End of Day

06 Feb

ImageShe stood there staring at the busted jar and much to her surprise felt tears begin to run down her cheeks.  Flecks of mustard sparkling with flecks of glass dotted her feet making her glad she had worn those flannel PJ bottoms after all.  “Well this really sucks”, she thought then caught herself wondering if she was commenting on her klutziness or her impromptu crying jag.

She seemed frozen to the spot, too upset to move even though the cold breeze of the fridge was starting to bring chill bumps to her arms.  Holding a sad looking week old hot dog (Dinner?)  in one hand, she brought the other up to wipe the falling tears and the running snot simultaneously making a mess of her once perfect makeup.  Not that she cared about that or much of anything at this time of the night.

Toby, her cat, upon hearing  the  opening of the refrigerator and shortly thereafter the crash of the container, instinctively sensing a potential for treats, had wandered in and was dying to weave between her legs. Fortunately the strong acrid smell of the mustard, now spreading nicely into an off-colored golden pond on the tile floor, was keeping him at bay.

She glanced at him between the tears and the hiccups brought on by her crying, and waggled the floppy dog at  him in an effort to shoo him away from the mess. The tantalizing aroma of old meat only continued to hold his stare as well as his unflinching front row seat to this stage play unfurling before his eyes.  There was food here and he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

She gave up on the shooing and scat catting and tossed the dog (so much for dinner)  across the room to at least get him out of harms way.  He sauntered after it in proper cat fashion leaving her frozen in place, afraid to move out in her bare feet thus risking adding blood to the mustardy mess underneath her.

Knowing there was  no one to come to her aid she slowly stepped out of the PJs, allowing them to gently float to the floor covering what she hoped would be most of the larger shards of glass.   Step by backward step she eased from the scene of the crime and came to light on the kitchen stool.  The tears and the hiccups finally abated and fatigue settled over her like a blanket.  Too late to scrounge for anything else to eat, too lazy to clean up the mess and too tired to even think about what set off her emotional roller coaster, she put her head down on the counter top and closed her eyes.  Midnight was almost here , Wednesday was almost over and she was just too tired for more words.

Thinking 10:Words Wednesday:  Mustard, Fridge, Crash.

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Posted by on February 6, 2013 in Flash Fiction, Southern Humor

 

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