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In Ten Minutes

In the time it takes to scrub a single pan icked over with chili, my son relieved the  corner cabinet of all its nesting bowls.  Not half.  All.  Only how the whole event got past my notice while I stood at the sink must speak to my immunity for hearing glass break.

Only nothing broke this time.  Not even my legs as I staggered and swayed in place, willing my non-flailing  arm to regrab the front of the sink and take a look-see around.   Somebody’d been busy.

This somebody.

The one pointing to the ‘doorway’ I was to exit and enter by were I to, say, jump over nine bowls to get there.

Then forget the bowls.  The cat needed attention.  And exercise.

Which was why taking him for a walk by dragging him across the carpet in a Christmas stocking made sense. 

To my son.

And by which time the cat decided he’d rather be out in the rain.

Than shoved one more time into that sock.

As for me.. heh…I might’ve shuddered.

‘Cause there were still fifty minutes left…

 in the same hour.


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