A few setbacks? No matter | Front Porch | Indy Week
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A few setbacks? No matter 

I'm a pleasant old lady and seldom swear, but Sunday afternoon, I could have used a few stinky old swear words.

My apartment was all cleaned up, I had washed my lunch dishes. Now I was going to get dressed all pretty for my son and his lady friend. So what my lovely rose-colored dress has been in the back of my closet for 15 years? My hair has turned gray, my body sags in different places. I have gained 10 pounds and lost three inches in height. And yet, with me not even aware, the beautiful dress seems to have adjusted itself, just hanging hidden away. It fits me again. I was happy—I would look 10 years younger.

I brushed my teeth and sponge-bathed and damn! I dropped the box of lilac perfumed body powder into the sink. No matter. As I clean up the powder, I notice there is a soap ring around the edge of the sink. No matter, I have a spray bottle of stuff to clean it up—only takes a second to wipe away. The spray bottle is right here under the sink. Oh! I sprayed myself in the face and the stuff ran down between my breasts. Lucky me, it did not get in my eyes. It did not hurt, but I had to get washed real good all over again. I told myself again, no matter, because lucky me, it did not get in my eyes.

So, I was feeling a bit sorry for myself. No matter, I decided, I would make myself a smoothie. I never measure anything—just whatever's in the fridge. Ice cubes (large glop), organic French vanilla yogurt (two glops), one banana, a hunk of cantaloupe, leftover juice I didn't finish at breakfast. And then more ice cubes, well, there would be enough smoothies for the company, too.

I put the lid on the blender and turned it on. All hell flew right in my kitchen. No one told me to hold the lid tight. I watch, fascinated, as ice cubes and yogurt and stuff and more stuff flew out. I was afraid to go near it. The floor had become so slick I didn't want to break a leg. Slowly, slowly, holding onto the stove and the sink, I edge near the blender and turn the damn thing off.

That's why the Sunday newspaper is spread all over the kitchen floor. No matter, tomorrow I will wash the floor.

I was sitting on the toilet when the doorbell rang. I never got a chance to wear my 10-years-younger dress. No matter—my apartment smelled like sweet lilacs.

  • I'm a pleasant old lady and seldom swear, but Sunday afternoon, I could have used a few stinky old swear words.

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