ONE OF THOSE DAYS
It’s been one of those days – you know what I mean. The sky was grey and the leaves were turning inside out because it was windy and raining like someone had opened the tap of a gigantic firehose. I was planning a pleasant drive on the motorbike which of course, with that weather, would have to be delayed or cancelled entirely. I’ve never been one much for long- range plans, preferring actually to do everything last minute. That has many advantages like not being disappointed by external forces, but of course it also has disadvantages like being dictated by the weather.
Stepping out of bed, I slid onto my knees because one of the cats had left me a gooey gift, as I said to myself, trying to talk myself into feeling better, but it was a gift that not only reeked but also messed my new, not-so-provocative, sexy negligee which I now had to wash before wearing again. But what would that do to the fuchsia-colored, boa feathers, now drooping in disappointment because their feathery loveliness had been the recipient of shit.?
Going downstairs, I saw that the wind had blown open the glass doors and the rain had flowed into the living room, drenching the couch and soaking several books I’d foolishly left on the floor because I had been deciding which to read first. I was, though, looking forward to reading them all. One was THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA by Hemingway. How I was enjoying that sad little classic I missed reading years ago. Now, how would I ever know what happened to that gigantic fish and the little old man who had tied his spectacular catch to the side of a rickety boat? Maybe I could find it on the internet or, if worse came to worse, I could get the condensed version on ChatGPT. Naturally I could buy another copy. But who wants to be practical? I mean, it is still in print. In my mind I imagined a whole classroom of students in some faraway country trying to understand the baseball references and having no idea what they meant. Maybe they too, could use ChatGPT. Why not?
“Oh, for a cup of coffee,” I said to myself, practically tasting the dark brown liquid that lights up the start of the day. But when I turned on the gas, the burner went “Sput-Sput-Sput,” and I watched with increasing dismay as the blue-yellow flames flickered and shrunk, spitting out only a few spurts of colorful fire before disappearing.
At least the phone worked, but when I called the man to deliver the gas he said “Sorry, not today.” He went on to say his son’s wife had just had a baby, so he would deliver my gas over the weekend. Until then, no gas, no hot food.
Nevertheless, even though it’s been raining off and on, mainly on, for days, a trip to the market seemed necessary. The rain had turned to drizzle, something I had begun to think of as tolerable and which allowed me to get there relatively dry, but the return home was another story, as if to say, “Fooled you, didn’t I?” I got soaked to the skin and probably through that too. I could change my clothes, which, of course, I did immediately. Getting soaked was okay for the broccoli, carrots, and corn on the cob.
However, it was an entirely different story for the freshly baked chocolate chip cookies in the lovely flowery bag which had turned the cookies into mush while the pasta got together like it had been painted with Gorilla Glue. Suppressing a swear word because I recalled my aunt repeatedly saying, “Dear, it’s so easy to be vulgar,” at that point I flashed onto another variety of Gorilla Glue, and I wished I were in Amsterdam where I could be sitting in a dry, warm, coffee shop there, one of those places with retro music, fantastic coffee and a sweet smell of an entirely different product called Gorilla Glue, which would make the day much more tolerable and reminded me of my undergrad days.
While putting away a few can goods in the pantry, I noticed I was not alone and there were some strange noises. At first, I thought I would probably need to get out the old mice trap and asked myself what I had handy that I could use for bait. But then I saw that the problem wasn’t a mouse at all but one of our furry creatures. The youngest cat had eaten a hole in a 25 kg bag of rice, and a pile of the little grains had dribbled behind the freezer. Naturally, it took all my energy to move the behemoth freezer enough to sweep up the mess, but in the process I also managed to wrench my back. For the rest of the day, I couldn’t stand upright.
That night, when I went to collapse into bed, I looked at my lovely negligee. The washed boa feathers were a sad sight, but hopefully I could fluff them up again. I slipped into one of my old serviceable nightgowns and collapsed into bed. The cats joined me. It was just one of those days. These things happen.