Mondays define and punctuate my life. It is 8:42 A.M. on the radio [no, I’m not listening to soap and all that weeping, nor to the local news and all that shouting] and I’m in the middle of washing dishes while mentally doing calculation calisthenics re budgetary and financial [or the lack of it] concerns. All is right in my world at the moment though: the dish washing liquid is my preferred brand and the mixture of the water and the concentrate resulted in an acceptable [my standards of course] consistency, thanks to the genius who came up with the idea of packing the liquids into 18 ml sachets [come to think of it, sachet-ing detergent powder, shampoo, seasoning, soy sauce, shoe polish, etc is a brilliant idea–cost effective and efficient]; the new washing machine is humming gently [actually, I still can’t decide whether it was wise to get one as electric consumption will surely go up, but i save time, not to mention strength, in wrestling with bed sheets, towels and denim] and competing with the wacky trio of Bernie Bitok-bitok, Lara Morena and Totoy Bugoy. They are gossiping about V-Day and their station’s famous stars. Naturally, it’s about who’s dating who [what else is there to talk about anyways?] Also, they are floating a poll question the answers of which can be sent by listeners via text [hurrah to the lucky telcom!]. So the question goes something like: what to you is the most romantic gesture ever done by your partner for you? Hmmmmmmmmm :-?. Someone says getting an unexpected kiss while scolding boyfriend [very effective means to shut her up], a tight hug [whoa, can’t breathe], a kiss on the forehead [awww, too sweet], roses [of course]. Amid the good-natured bantering and jokes with highly sexual overtones, is the jock’s more realistic prediction that for married people, the wife would probably snub the flowers and sneer in exasperation at the husband’s extreme stupidity in spending on flowers instead of fish. Thus, can anyone blame the husband if he gives the bouquet to the nanny instead? [If only I can narrate this in my dialect and a reader, say, French, can understand it, the punchline might unseat him. AS it is, a lot is lost in my pathetic attempt at translation]. Anyways, I’m thinking, if husband suddenly starts giving me flowers, I’m gonna scratch his eyes out and beat him to a pulp. In graciepedia, this is definitely a sign he’s straying.
By 10:45, the house is clean and orderly, laundry hanging out to dry in the sunshine, plants watered and garden weeded, dogs fed, and I’m about to sit down and enjoy my second cup of coffee for the day. It is hours before the girls arrive from school, and for me to prepare supper. I have the rest of the day to myself, to daydream or mull things over, read [the Bible included :)], and of course, write this piece.
I’m not a very sociable person. Needless to say, I flunk at “people-smart” category. Interacting is one of my stress points. I need to say this again to emphasize that in my solitude, I am happy and at peace.