Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Static electricity runs through the brush.
The shower is fucked.
The feckless mesh basket that shields the sink from debris is an affront.
The box of maxi pads is shredded.
The clothes are in a trunk. People wear the clothes when they wake up. Some clothes are in a pile. The pile is walking up the wall.
The brush is orange rubber with white tines on a cream colored plastic handle.
It looks like it has been sitting in the sun.
The bathroom looks dusty in the sun.
The brush gets stuck in our hero’s hair when she runs it though.
She watches it hang there in the mirror.
The mirror is not a window.
It is flecked with toothpaste spattered during an active session of brushing.
Women are messy.
Men are messy.
The roommates are resentful.
Our hero cleans the bathroom on her knees.
She is not effective.
Her hand is not a mop.
She wishes for efficiency.
She envies the objects.
If she was the best at a single thing would she do it all the time?
Nothing is ever easy.
Every sentence is overly ornate.
A sponge is expected to scrub.
Sometimes it is a raft.
This piece was inspired by the documentary I Married the Eiffel Tower and every bathroom I've ever shared.