I didn’t expect it when it came. Wrapped in a tattered green shroud and smelling like the clay you find in your garden once you’ve dug too far down - it simply appeared. One minute, I was at the sink, washing those damned dishes that no one else in this house seems to even realize exist. And then I turn and, there it was. Perched like a …
I didn’t expect it when it came. Wrapped in a tattered green shroud and smelling like the clay you find in your garden once you’ve dug too far down - it simply appeared. One minute, I was at the sink, washing those damned dishes that no one else in this house seems to even realize exist. And then I turn and, there it was. Perched like a vulture on our try-as-I-might-to-keep-it-clean-but-it-stains-no-matter-what wooden kitchen table.
Of course, I thought at first the kids were just fucking with me. Pulled some crap out of the garage that I’d end up organizing by the way because Jerry still hadn’t cleaned it (despite telling me for 3 weeks that he would) and placing it here as a taunt. A memento to show me just how ineffectual I am at trying to get anyone in this house to do a damn bit of anything even though I’m a giver and all I do is work to keep all of them happy. But then I remembered they’d walked to get ice cream and there’s no amount of tomfoolery alive that could keep those kids from getting into sugar if the opportunity arose. And Jerry was out on a disc golf course somewhere, so it certainly wasn’t him – not that he’d take the time to try to surprise me anyhow.
But the thing you have to realize is that I was just about done with this life as it is. I wasn’t ill or anything. It’s just that I couldn’t take the bullshit any longer. The kids. Jerry. The incessant whining and the endless chores no matter what I do – how much of myself I give. And so after I waited a minute, I decided, fuck it. There ain’t nothing this mystery box is gonna do that could be worse than this drawn out indentured servitude of a life I’m leading. And so I opened it.
As I slid the shroud off, about a dozen dead moths and a few dozen more other dead bugs fell to the floor and I swear I almost wept because that’s just one more fucking thing I gotta clean up quick because god knows Remi will eat anything that ends up on the floor and I was in no mood to have to deal with some outrageous vet bill to get that lab’s stomach pumped. AGAIN. What’s worse is I couldn’t say for sure all those bugs were dead, which meant an exterminator call – and bill – and god help me if we have to wrap our house in one of those circus tents because the neighbors…. And by this point, I don’t really care what’s in the box because it’s liable to just be one more thing I gotta deal with, so I undo the latch like I’m opening my taxes and throw open the lid. And it’s empty. No pirate treasure. No Indiana Jones wrath of god. Just a moldy smelling bastard of a box.
So why is it here, you ask? On my mantel? It’s the only thing big enough to hold all the ashes. It was one of those crazy coincidences. Jerry coming home from the course and the accident. If it weren’t for all that shit I had to do for them that day, I could’ve been part of it! They figure something must’ve scared him pretty bad, because witnesses say the car started swerving all over the rode before it jumped the curb and slammed into that tree. Of course, that curb being right near the ice cream shop and was at the exact same time as the children….. And then how Remi got there I couldn’t even say. I swore I had the gate locked. But he showed up before the police and, well, like I said, he’ll eat anything. So by the time the police got there, well, a cremation was just the best for everyone.
That dirty old shroud it came in? Oh, I sent that to Goodwill. I’m sure someone will want it. I’m a giver after all.
I didn’t expect it when it came. Wrapped in a tattered green shroud and smelling like the clay you find in your garden once you’ve dug too far down - it simply appeared. One minute, I was at the sink, washing those damned dishes that no one else in this house seems to even realize exist. And then I turn and, there it was. Perched like a vulture on our try-as-I-might-to-keep-it-clean-but-it-stains-no-matter-what wooden kitchen table.
Of course, I thought at first the kids were just fucking with me. Pulled some crap out of the garage that I’d end up organizing by the way because Jerry still hadn’t cleaned it (despite telling me for 3 weeks that he would) and placing it here as a taunt. A memento to show me just how ineffectual I am at trying to get anyone in this house to do a damn bit of anything even though I’m a giver and all I do is work to keep all of them happy. But then I remembered they’d walked to get ice cream and there’s no amount of tomfoolery alive that could keep those kids from getting into sugar if the opportunity arose. And Jerry was out on a disc golf course somewhere, so it certainly wasn’t him – not that he’d take the time to try to surprise me anyhow.
But the thing you have to realize is that I was just about done with this life as it is. I wasn’t ill or anything. It’s just that I couldn’t take the bullshit any longer. The kids. Jerry. The incessant whining and the endless chores no matter what I do – how much of myself I give. And so after I waited a minute, I decided, fuck it. There ain’t nothing this mystery box is gonna do that could be worse than this drawn out indentured servitude of a life I’m leading. And so I opened it.
As I slid the shroud off, about a dozen dead moths and a few dozen more other dead bugs fell to the floor and I swear I almost wept because that’s just one more fucking thing I gotta clean up quick because god knows Remi will eat anything that ends up on the floor and I was in no mood to have to deal with some outrageous vet bill to get that lab’s stomach pumped. AGAIN. What’s worse is I couldn’t say for sure all those bugs were dead, which meant an exterminator call – and bill – and god help me if we have to wrap our house in one of those circus tents because the neighbors…. And by this point, I don’t really care what’s in the box because it’s liable to just be one more thing I gotta deal with, so I undo the latch like I’m opening my taxes and throw open the lid. And it’s empty. No pirate treasure. No Indiana Jones wrath of god. Just a moldy smelling bastard of a box.
So why is it here, you ask? On my mantel? It’s the only thing big enough to hold all the ashes. It was one of those crazy coincidences. Jerry coming home from the course and the accident. If it weren’t for all that shit I had to do for them that day, I could’ve been part of it! They figure something must’ve scared him pretty bad, because witnesses say the car started swerving all over the rode before it jumped the curb and slammed into that tree. Of course, that curb being right near the ice cream shop and was at the exact same time as the children….. And then how Remi got there I couldn’t even say. I swore I had the gate locked. But he showed up before the police and, well, like I said, he’ll eat anything. So by the time the police got there, well, a cremation was just the best for everyone.
That dirty old shroud it came in? Oh, I sent that to Goodwill. I’m sure someone will want it. I’m a giver after all.
I like this. I'm also quite tickled that someone else uses the word tomfoolery.
Thank you. :)
Ditto, here. I know that 'tomfoolery' is going to show up in everyone's work now.
Like putting a modern kitchen in an old Victorian, some terms just don’t work in updated form. Some sentiments just need the old vernacular.