Mussy Love

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Somebody left a bowl with a spoon upstairs on the toilet’s tank-top. The guilty party presumably finished their breakfast in the bathroom, and the bowl and the spoon were left there all day, or for several days, or for many. Had the culprit spooned up their Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch or some combination of the aforementioned whilst perched on the toilet, id est, whilst making a deposit? I didn’t ask. 

And what of the piles of Sunday newspaper advertisements that bury the ledge just inside of their front door? We’re talking several years of Sunday ads, or so it seems. Don’t the coupons contained therein expire? 

And let’s not forget the balloons that hover above the low-hanging streamers from a party they hosted two weeks ago. 

Clutter dominates every room. 

And by the way, dog hair and dog slobber coat the interior of their car. 

Ah, but life is mussy. And the two who call this place home, they are far happier than I. They have jobs, they mingle, they revel. Above all, they have each other. They’ve shared experiences I’ve only dreamed of or read about. 

Life, well-lived, is anything but immaculate. 

And I am a lonely, germophobic neat-freak, still. 

17 December 2006

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