My happiest memories are washing dishes. Just me and flowing aqua and some Palmolive. The three of us come together and a chemical reaction happens, lather, green hued lather. The soft pillowy clean cloud dances on dishes demolishing my fatty fooded filth. Im so full from eating i can hardly circle the sponge in my greasy pan. I eat like a hog. Dinner bell rings a whole bunch in my stomach resulting in tons of old lady food piled high on a skillet. I just stand and eat at the stove, usually out of the pots n pans with the wooden spoon. Im a member of the clean plate club for sure, hell probably the chairmen.
After chowing stove side its back to happy thoughts with the aqua, palmy, and sponge. Cleaning these utensils is sooo soothing. The act of dish washing is like a metaphor for cleansing away everything fatty that I put in my Old Navy body. The washing can take up to an hour. Im flat out exhausted by the time im finished zoning out at the sink. After the last dish is dried the dinner bell rings its ugly ding ding. Well Im back at the stove again cooking in lard, flour, and cream gravy. This round is chicken n dumplings, i love the simplicity of a doughy stew. Afterwards the process continues and im back in my happy place. What a life I have grown accustomed too. If you visited me in my home all you would see is the back of my frumpy frame at the sink or stove. And thats a good thing actually, as its been 3 years since ive seen myself in a mirror. I caught a glimpse recently on the side of the spaghetti quart pot and it just made me famished thinking about what it takes to feed that face of mine.
It would be grand if you visited, I can still converse with a holler while I eat n clean. I got an ear full for you to take in and it would do me good to say something out loud again. If you do stop by will you please bring me some Palmolive. I go through a handle of it a day and I am running low.
1 comment:
a handle of it.
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