Who Are You?
Entry by: MediaOcracy
1st December 2014
And You Thought You Knew Her
The call has been made. Now she sprays the worktop first with Mr Muscle then wipes the whole
surface down. Spotless. Then she repeats, cleaning each unit door carefully.
Pulls out the bread knife - the only sharp blade in the house, rinses it in hot water and puts a few drops of Fairy on the scourer before wiping it super clean. Rinses again. Dries it now with the fresh laundered tea towel from Bognor. Takes off the blue nitrile gloves, her striped blue and white pinny, then dumps the lot in the pedal bin.
The bread is cool enough now and with exquisite care, she cuts off the crust before sawing two perfect slices. Woman’s Hour has finished and Moneybox is droning in the background. Rich people ringing in anxiously to find out how they can be richer. She’s thinking about those arguments. Always about money.
The two slices in the toaster, set to the lightest shade. Now she takes the cherry tomatoes, spring onions, iceberg and using the bread knife, prepares the salad filling. She’s veering to the vegetarian but that weakness for fish gets in the way. What's the word? Piscetarian or something. Not exactly sure.
Stepping over, she takes a small tin of Aldi Ocean Rise from the bottom cupboard, and begins the struggle with the opener. It’s the 21st century, why are they still so rubbish? Finally, the lid springs free and she drains the brine before easing the tuna flakes into a small bowl. Adds a touch of luxury with a dollop of Hellmann’s and mixes it in just as the toaster pops. Perfect.
A thin spread of Flora on both slices, then she builds the sandwich. Lettuce bed first, tomato halves then a sprinkle of onions before spooning out the tuna. On cue, the cat appears, looks a little put out for a moment, then heads over to the empty tuna tin for lickings. Bowl in the dishwasher.
A touch of salt for the seasoning and it’s on with the lid. She cuts diagonally into exact halves, which are then put onto the one remaining china plate. This she takes to the table and places it gently down.
Fills the kettle and puts a bag of Tetley’s in her favourite mug, the one that says A clean house is a sign of a wasted life. Plenty of irony there she thinks, looking over her shoulder. She stares out of the window and hums along as the kettle gets up steam. Boiling water into the mug, a quick poke with the teaspoon, hooks out the bag and dumps it in the bin like a pro. A splash of milk and a stir. No sugar, no.
The mug on the table just so. It’s a fine lunch if she says so herself. One more thing. She takes the bread knife, rinses and wipes it with the Bognor towel. Steps over, bends down and slowly pushes the blade back into her husband’s chest.
A small sigh before sitting down to enjoy the sandwich, waiting to see what might happen next.
The call has been made. Now she sprays the worktop first with Mr Muscle then wipes the whole
surface down. Spotless. Then she repeats, cleaning each unit door carefully.
Pulls out the bread knife - the only sharp blade in the house, rinses it in hot water and puts a few drops of Fairy on the scourer before wiping it super clean. Rinses again. Dries it now with the fresh laundered tea towel from Bognor. Takes off the blue nitrile gloves, her striped blue and white pinny, then dumps the lot in the pedal bin.
The bread is cool enough now and with exquisite care, she cuts off the crust before sawing two perfect slices. Woman’s Hour has finished and Moneybox is droning in the background. Rich people ringing in anxiously to find out how they can be richer. She’s thinking about those arguments. Always about money.
The two slices in the toaster, set to the lightest shade. Now she takes the cherry tomatoes, spring onions, iceberg and using the bread knife, prepares the salad filling. She’s veering to the vegetarian but that weakness for fish gets in the way. What's the word? Piscetarian or something. Not exactly sure.
Stepping over, she takes a small tin of Aldi Ocean Rise from the bottom cupboard, and begins the struggle with the opener. It’s the 21st century, why are they still so rubbish? Finally, the lid springs free and she drains the brine before easing the tuna flakes into a small bowl. Adds a touch of luxury with a dollop of Hellmann’s and mixes it in just as the toaster pops. Perfect.
A thin spread of Flora on both slices, then she builds the sandwich. Lettuce bed first, tomato halves then a sprinkle of onions before spooning out the tuna. On cue, the cat appears, looks a little put out for a moment, then heads over to the empty tuna tin for lickings. Bowl in the dishwasher.
A touch of salt for the seasoning and it’s on with the lid. She cuts diagonally into exact halves, which are then put onto the one remaining china plate. This she takes to the table and places it gently down.
Fills the kettle and puts a bag of Tetley’s in her favourite mug, the one that says A clean house is a sign of a wasted life. Plenty of irony there she thinks, looking over her shoulder. She stares out of the window and hums along as the kettle gets up steam. Boiling water into the mug, a quick poke with the teaspoon, hooks out the bag and dumps it in the bin like a pro. A splash of milk and a stir. No sugar, no.
The mug on the table just so. It’s a fine lunch if she says so herself. One more thing. She takes the bread knife, rinses and wipes it with the Bognor towel. Steps over, bends down and slowly pushes the blade back into her husband’s chest.
A small sigh before sitting down to enjoy the sandwich, waiting to see what might happen next.
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