The kitchen is a wreck. Cutting boards, knives, bowls, measuring cups, vegetable trimmings, all scattered about with reckless abandon. 

She leans forward, elbows on the floured counter, hands cradling her face as the tears roll down without pause. The cat weaves his way between her feet, back and forth, rubbing and purring but offering scant comfort. 

A key rattles in the doorknob; it turns, and the front door admits her husband. He drops his keys in the dish on the table by the door and heads straight for the bathroom. 

She straightens up, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. 

He calls from the bathroom, “Dinner ready yet?”

“Not yet,” she answers. 

Wed Stories at TBP

2 Comments on “Dinnertime”

  1. LRose says:

    Oh, that horrible experience, when the thing you are creating in the kitchen (operative word being “creating,” not “re-creating from carefully researched and composed instructions in a book about preparing never-fail meals”) turns out to be something horribly, horribly wrong. So, so embarrassing.

  2. tnkerr says:

    A superb example of “one of those days”

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