Yesterday, I got on a bit of a tirade about being the maid. “Sick or not, everyone has to carry his/her own dishes to the sink, rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher; pick up after him/herself;” blah blah blah. After the next meal, Ed let me know he had taken care of his own dishes. DeRay isn’t so easily influenced. Plopped in front of the TV, he says in his wry way, “When you’re gone, we’ll take the money that you cost us for food, housing, and clothing and hire someone to clean and cook for us.”
Ouch.
This must have dug deep into my psyche for as I slowly awakened this morning, I was dreaming that I grabbed the vacuum cleaner from a man DeRay had hired to do the cleaning. As I pushed the vacuum back and forth, I thought “This will be the last time I’ll ever vacuum” – because – now I don’t know whether I was awake or asleep at this point - the man hadn’t come just to vacuum. He had planted a bomb in the vacuum cleaner. Don’t ask me why. That wasn’t explained. Was he part of some subversive group; or was he a madman acting on his own? I know not. All I know is that as I vacuumed everything blew to smithereens. DeRay didn’t even have to pay for my burial because the explosion was so horrendous that only small bits of me could be found. No one else was home but the house was demolished. I don’t know what happened to the mysterious man. Was he still in the house?
Fully awake now, I thought: “This is my first attempt at writing fiction.”
How did I do?
1 comment:
hj,
Now you tell me! I have been entering part of your true stories under "Fiction" at the SB Fair for years.
ld
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