I just had a very surreal experience. I took something out of the refrigerator, and watched a container fall in slow motion off the shelf and into the air. It fell and fell and fell… and hit the floor in front of me with a splat of chili. Yes, chili. It was one of those moments I was glad I had not gotten around to mopping. Chili was everywhere. Covering my house shoes and my pants. The lid was flat on the floor, full of chili. The container itself was absolutely empty several feet away. And chili was arrayed in a lovely arc everywhere in between. After starring at it for several minutes I reached around and got the roll of paper towels and the garbage can and starting scooping the chili into the garbage, thanking God for the invention of paper towels. I slipped the shoes off and scooped chili off them and my pants. In the middle of all this my husband walks in. Through the kitchen and out the door. Here I am, literally knee deep in chili, and he doesn’t mention it or even notice.
Perhaps I need to rethink my wardrobe. Or the cleanliness of my kitchen. Or my life.