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Just Shelley

How are you tonight?

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Just peachy. How are you?

I opened the refrigerator and found it and everything in it completely covered with diet Coke. Diet coke with lime, to be exact, a brand new flavor I’m trying (but regret ever so much because I feel as if my tongue has been dipped in furniture polish after drinking a can). The can had been pushed back next to the wall of the refrigerator on the top shelf; combined with a full freezer resulted in the can freezing and then bursting in a beautiful explosion that managed to cover everything quite nicely.

After I had hauled everything out and cleaned down the sides and shelves with soda-water, I noticed that I had a series of jars with only a dib of this and a dab of that so I tossed them. I then noticed that several other things had passed expiration, so tossed them, too. I washed the eggs off and lined them up neatly in the door, and put everything away, dairy here, cokes there. In the front.

But what’s a clean inside if the outside is dusty, and stained.

Nothing shows up dingy cupboards like a clean refrigerator.

When was the last time I moved the microwave and cleaned thoroughly underneath it?

Why is it that stainless steel sinks stain?

The oven smokes so when I use it. Sets off the fire alarm.

The cans and boxes in the open pantry shelves along the wall are all disorganized, and older stuff has been pushed to the back.

You know, I really love copper, it’s my favorite metal. That huge copper vent and hood over the freestanding stove has years of grime and tarnish covering it . I wonder what it will look like polished and clean?

The birds are building nests. Look at that silly finch trying to haul that huge piece of weed across the ground. Easier to see when the windows in the french doors are clean.

The floor. Nothing better than a freshly scrubbed and waxed floor.

Now I’m left with the can, which I’ve decided to keep. It’s a pretty can. It reminds me of nights when I wake, unexpectedly. It looks familiar.

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