Agnes walked down the stairs to the kitchen. Today, she’d spend six hours practicing on the piano. No ifs, ands, or buts. Housework wouldn’t interfere.
She walked into the kitchen and groaned. An unfolded load of towels and sheets lay in a mound on the table. Dirty dishes – Norman’s martini shaker, his martini glass, three ice cream bowls with crusty chocolate chips on them, spoons – piled up high in the kitchen sink. The trash needed taking out. And Agnes had to make coffee for Norman before he went to work.
“Good morning, darling!” Norman said from behind her. “Can’t wait for you to make coffee, I’m off to the firm for an early morning design meeting. Give your husband a kiss on the cheek.”
I’ll give him a slap on the cheek, Agnes thought. He’s always making my life impossible. But not today – not when I’m going to practice six hours for my recital. That’s my time. His laundry and his dishes can stay where they are.
“Grace ran into the bathroom,” he said, “and was sick to her stomach. She’ll have to stay home today. And Harold wants you to get him ready for school. Oh – and would you call the carpenter about my third-floor studio? Oh – and I’d like to have fish for dinner, honey.”
Agnes glared at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was putting on his jacket. Without a glance, he said, “Bye now! Have a nice day.”
Sure, a nice day filled with doing things for him and taking care of the house and doing everything. Everything except what she wanted to do. It was all Norman’s fault. No doubt about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment