There comes a time in life where you step into a mound of crunchy peanut butter and know that’s it, you’ve made it, you can come no further. There is peanut butter stuck to the heel of your bare foot and you couldn’t be happier.

An epiphany you had last year has been fully realized because all of your furniture is covered in it, and it may have taken 2,000 jars to finish the job, but it’s finally done and it’s a masterpiece.

Imagine my horror when I returned home from a long day at the office to find my floors and chairs and end tables wiped clean. I’d forgotten the day of the week, simple as that, and one of those traveling maid services had come on our agreed date to pick up after a month of accumulated messes. I’d thought I had another twenty-four hours before I had to cancel the appointment. I could have dealt with it in twenty-four hours. Preserved it or something. Wrapped it in tin foil and stuck Post-Its all over. Submitted my house to the Historical Society.

But now all I have is a clean house and a space for a new mattress, which I guess I probably should have bought a few years ago anyway, when I felt the springs of the old ones collapse under the weight of the industrial espresso machine that got too heavy to carry across the room.

I can only hope that one of the cleaning ladies took a picture and uploaded it to the internet. I’ll settle for viral fame.

Published at Goon and Darling Do Flash Fiction on July 30, 2012.


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