What house chore do you dislike the most?

Dishes. Not dishwasher fill and empty, but fill-the-sink with stinking hot water and scrub till your fingers wrinkle and the water is some shade of greenish grey dishes. Washing, rinsing, drying the tedium knows no end.

I’ve always hated doing the dishes. I hate the standing in place, waiting for the sink to fill, the sticky goo left on the plates and silverware, the baked on sludge that clings to the pans, the stench that follows you the rest of the day, and most of all the water that inevitable soaks my shirt and pants. It all makes me feel miserable. I vowed as a child to always own a dishwashing machine no matter where I live.

Once, during basic training, I was assigned kitchen duty, which involved cleaning unbelievably large pots by hand in water so hot and caustic my hands shriveled till they cracked and stayed that way for days. The mixture stripped the polish off my boots. 

Picture this

Katrina sat upon the bed after coming home, put on a warm sweater, dropped her purse and hugged her lovable yet excited dog, Ralphy.

Thank god, it’s over. She could relax, but wait, there was a rattling of keys outside the door. 

“It couldn’t be.“  She held on tighter in anticipation.

Not after she had accidently run him over with the pickup, but then he was moaning. 

But she was sure the baseball bat to his temple would have ended it. At least second time. Never mind third or fourth hits just to be sure.

The keys were dropped and the person grunted a bit to stoop over and pick them up.

And even if he survived that, how did he escape the tire that she had chained him to, wrapped around his neck with both tossed unceremoniously into the old quarry off of I-75?

She heard the key slide into the lock and the tumbler turn and the door began to crack open. 

Ralphy was beside himself whether to lick the intruder or attack she didn’t know, but it took all of her strength to hold him back.

The door swung wide open.

“Oh good evening, deary. I hope I didn’t scare you. I just stopped by and the lights were off, so I was letting myself in to drop off this beautiful challah  bread I picked up around the corner.”

It was mom. She breathed a sigh and let go of Ralphy to give Nana wet sloppy kisses and make a big deal.

Describe yourself in three words

Three words. That’s all I need. Describe myself. 

Easy enough if I knew myself. So much has changed in the last year and I often find I don’t know who I am anymore. 

I reach deep inside myself and pull on the easiest handle to find. Ah I like telling stories and there’s several good looking ones in there. Just need a bit of spit and polish. 

I dive in again. my insides churning around and I latch onto another lever. This one is labeled, pictures. I have pictures hidden inside, forgotten, remembered, and mourned. Swirling and touching the ground like a cyclone.

Once more, I part my insides and dig for a good word. Scared.