You may recognize Peter as someone I linked to a couple of weeks ago, when I was suggesting that you check out his letters to his future wife! He cracks me up on the daily, and today, he’s here to bring you a funny little fiction tale. The irony is that this is totally something I could see happening in the Dunmyre house! Enjoy :)
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I’ll Wash Your Invisible Plane
They lean over the kitchen counter together.
“What do you think it is?” she asks.
“Oh I have no idea,” he replies.
“Stew?”
“Maybe. I’ve never seen that colour in nature before.”
“How long has it been in the back of the fridge?” she asks.
“There are cave paintings on the inside of the cover.”
He pokes at it with a fork. She recoils.
“Well I think you can handle a dirty pot,” she says, turning to walk away.
“Whoah whoah whoah. Where exactly are you going, Shirky Sue?”
“New nail polish… bare toe nails… I’m going to mow the lawn.”
“Yes. Amusing. What makes you think I should be the one to wash the pot?”
“‘Cause you’re the best boyfriend ever.”
“You used that one to get me to do the grocery shopping.”
“Oh yeah.”
“And the vacuuming,” he says.
“That’s right.”
“And to wear your dress while you hemmed the bottom.”
“I can’t believe you fell for that.”
“Oh there is no way I am washing that pot,” he says.
“Babe, I’ve been so busy with work. I’m tiiiiiiiiired,” she says.
“I’ve been just as busy as you.”
“You played some game online for three hours last night.”
“A) It is Partycasino.com. B) It was only two and a half hours. And C) I didn’t think you knew about that.”
“Mmmmhmmm.”
“You’re an mmmmhmmm.”
“Shirky Sue?” she asks.
“One of us has to clean it.”
“Agreed.”
“How are we going to decide?” he asks.
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Bring it.”
“Rock… paper…scissors…” they say in unison.
She throws rock. He throws paper.
He raises his hand over his head.
“How does paper beat rock anyway? Let me throw a rock at you and see if you want to block it with paper,” she says.
“There’s a scrubbing brush under the sink. Have fun,” he says.
He struts across the kitchen.
“I’ll dress as Wonder Woman for Hallowe’en,” she says.
He stops. He turns around. He walks back to the sink. He bends over and grabs the scrubbing brush.
“I am still claiming victory here,” he says.
“That’s super, babe,” she says with a smile, grabbing her bottle of nail polish off the counter.
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