The Writing Mamas Daily Blog
Each day on the Writing Mamas Daily Blog, a different member will write about mothering.If you're a mom then you've said these words, you've made these observations and you've lived these situations - 24/7.
And for that, you are a goddess.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Apartment, Third Floor
Somethin's rotten in Marin.
I've scrubbed my bathroom, where I first noticed the smell -- think dead rat, dead cat, dead neighbor.
Then I smelled it in the kitchen, so I scrubbed under my sink (ick), re-garburated the garburator, loaded up all the dishes in my sink and ran the dishwasher.
I picked up everything on the living room floor. I lit candles and flung open windows and doors. I dusted the bookcase -- well, really, I just sprayed Pledge on a shelf. There's obviously nothing dead up there. Why go to the trouble? Any excuse to spray.
But that smell’s not going away.
On my way up from my fifth trip to the laundry room (now it can’t be my laundry that stinks) I encountered someone: New guy coming out of the apartment under mine.
"Hey! Are you one of my neighbors?" I say.
"Uh, no," he says, holding a plastic bag behind his back. "No, I'm just living here for a little while."
"Well, hey, I'm your neighbor upstairs," I say, and walk on up.
It still stinks here, though, three hours later, and now I'm suspicious.
Maybe he’s here to dispose of the dead body.
If it still smells rotten tomorrow, watch out -- I'm all over you, neighbor. Like Windex on a mirror, like Comet in my toilet, like Pledge on a bookshelf.
By Anjie Reynolds
Stumble This Post
I've scrubbed my bathroom, where I first noticed the smell -- think dead rat, dead cat, dead neighbor.
Then I smelled it in the kitchen, so I scrubbed under my sink (ick), re-garburated the garburator, loaded up all the dishes in my sink and ran the dishwasher.
I picked up everything on the living room floor. I lit candles and flung open windows and doors. I dusted the bookcase -- well, really, I just sprayed Pledge on a shelf. There's obviously nothing dead up there. Why go to the trouble? Any excuse to spray.
But that smell’s not going away.
On my way up from my fifth trip to the laundry room (now it can’t be my laundry that stinks) I encountered someone: New guy coming out of the apartment under mine.
"Hey! Are you one of my neighbors?" I say.
"Uh, no," he says, holding a plastic bag behind his back. "No, I'm just living here for a little while."
"Well, hey, I'm your neighbor upstairs," I say, and walk on up.
It still stinks here, though, three hours later, and now I'm suspicious.
Maybe he’s here to dispose of the dead body.
If it still smells rotten tomorrow, watch out -- I'm all over you, neighbor. Like Windex on a mirror, like Comet in my toilet, like Pledge on a bookshelf.
By Anjie Reynolds
Labels: Anie Reynolds
Stumble This Post
