May 11, 2012 by Kim
“That bitch is seriously trying to kill me!”
As I staggered passed Hubs, towards the kitchen, this is the only sentence that seemed to be able to find its way out of my mouth.
I slowly bent my body into a 90 degree angle, resting my torso dejectedly on the kitchen counter… head slightly propped up against the bread box.
With a slight glance, over his left shoulder, Hubs requested that I try to refrain from pooling sweat where the boys would be making their school lunches shortly.
I attempted to catch my breath, so I could give him a piece of my exhausted mind… but was unable. Between my labored exhales I extracted a butter knife from the utensil drawer with the sole intent of flinging it towards the back of his head. However, you apparently have to be able to physically lift your arm to successfully partake in the flinging of anything and the butter knife clattered to the floor.. making brief contact with my big toe.
I slid down the cabinet to the chilled tile, defeated. As the side of my face made contact with the floor, I found myself staring, through sweat fogged eyes, at a lonely crumb lying in the grout. Somewhere, in the distance, I heard Hub’s voice… reminding me to pick the butter knife up and put it into the sink when I’m finished dying.
I closed my eyes…
***to be continued***