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Broke Wife, Big City
Can we talk for a minute?
By Aprill Brandon
Hey. Hi. How are you doing? Busy? Yeah, me too. But if you have a minute, could you come over here? *pats chair* Oh, you’d rather stay there? Sure, no problem. We can just do this right here in the kitchen then.
Look, I know this won’t be easy. But it’s time. We’ve put this off for
long enough. I know, I know. I’ve been dreading it too. But...sigh...
We need to talk.
How long have we been together now? Going on seven years, isn’t it? And
hey, I’ll be the first to admit it hasn’t been perfect. I’ve said and
done things I’m not proud of. Throwing spaghetti at you was not one of
my finer moments. Nor was that profanity-laced tirade last month when I
unfairly blamed you for breaking my favorite wine glass. You know, the
giant one that can fit an entire bottle of wine in it? But you’re far
from perfect too. Ok? You’ve flooded my kitchen. Twice.
We’ve made it work though. Somehow, through it all, we’ve made it work.
Oh, but dishwasher, lately it seems you are trying to hurt me on
purpose. Every night, no matter what was cooked or what was eaten,
there is always that one dish left over on the counter that simply
won’t fit inside you. I rearrange, and rearrange, and rearrange again.
But it just won’t fit. Sometimes it’s a plate, sometimes a pan,
sometimes a sippy cup or two. It doesn’t matter what. All that matters
is that it’s always SOMETHING.
And I don’t feel I’m exaggerating when I say that the one thing that won’t fit in you is ruining my life.
Now wait, wait, wait. Don’t get mad. Just listen. Because I know I’m
asking a lot more of you these days. We have two kids now. We basically
doubled the size of our family in just a few short years. And even
though it’s only two kids, it pretty much tripled your workload. I’ll
be the first to admit those tiny, adorable creatures are super gross.
Especially when it comes to food. The sheer amount of leftover ketchup
we force down your throat now. I mean, just gallons of it. You really
have been a champ about all of it.
But that is no reason to start slacking off. To start being petty and
refusing to fit ALL the dinner dishes inside your, let’s be honest,
cavernous insides. No, no, no. I don’t mean anything by that. Only that
there seems to be ample room in there. And yet, there’s that one pot
still sitting on the stove. Unable to fit. I mean, what am I supposed
to do? Wash it by HAND? Like a peasant? Does the technology to do that
even EXIST anymore?
Oh, well yes, if you must know, I have had a few glasses of wine
already, but that has nothing to do with this. And you can take that
judgmental tone out of your voice, DISHWASHER. Who are you to judge me?
I wouldn’t even let my smartphone talk to me like that and it’s my best
friend.
Sigh... look, we’re getting off track here. Let’s just breathe and regroup.
I just want the kitchen clean. For once. Can you understand that
desire? Just completely, undeniably clean when I wake up in the
morning. It’s a small thing, but thanks to those beautiful
ketchup-guzzlers I gave birth to, my life has devolved into utter
chaos. And there are days where I am barely holding on. I need just one
little, small, tiny area of my life that is orderly and tidy,
especially since I have ceded the rest of the household territory to my
savage heathen offspring and their army of toys. They’ve even laid
siege to the bathroom with their giant militia of bathtub duckies.
So, that space, MY space, has to be the kitchen. But when I wake up in
the morning after yet another night of not enough sleep and see there
are still dirty dishes, it pushes me into an IRRATIONAL RAGE that I
find hard to CONTROL because I spend all DAY trying to be Mary FREAKING
Poppins, only WITHOUT THE PAYCHECK, and since I SWALLOW MY ANGER ALL
THE TIME IT HAS TO BE UNLEASHED SOMEWHERE AND RIGHT NOW THAT IS ON YOU.
*heavy panting*
Sorry. That was uncalled for. Let’s just calm down and try this again.
I’ll move this plate over here...and put this up here...flip this
skillet the other way... and... ahhhhhhh... JUST FIT ALL THE STUPID
DISHES INSIDE YOUR STUPID BIG DUMB FACE, DISHWASHER! JUST DO IT! DO IT,
DO IT, DO IT!
AND BY THE WAY, I KNOW IT WAS YOU WHO BROKE THE WINE GLASS!
*grabs bottle of wine and storm out in a huff*
Can’t get enough of Aprill? Can’t wait until next week?
Check out her website at http://aprillbrandon.com/
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