Home deludement
This is a man who comes into my home and stocks it with living essentials, using a plentiful supply of money from his own pocket.
How can I hate this person? He actually comes into my house, travels the 20 feet from the front door to the kitchen and first thing, opens the fridge. Seemingly he makes a note of everything that’s not there, and then 30 minutes later he brings us these things.
Stocks the fridge with milk and juice, sparkling apple cider, water, coke and slices of deli meat. Bread! How long has it been since one of us, me or my mother, has remembered to buy bread!? Joyous bread, creator of the sandwich.
He gives us tuna and mayonnaise and mustard and lettuce to put on the bread in any order we see fit.
He brings us potato chips and twinkies (I don’t know why, but who cares, I like twinkies.)
He buys us trash bags, something we can never seem to keep hold of. He buys us dishwashing soap.
If this man were to give me gifts solely for me, jewels and clothing of the finest kind I doubt I’d like it quite as much as finding my house surprisingly stuffed full of it’s everyday needs. There’s something so nice about a house full of conventional stuff.
Where’s the milk and the cereal? Why it’s all right here!
We’re all out of toilet paper!? No we’re not, we’ve got loads!
What about the paper towels? Yup, four new rolls! They’re even the ones with the pretty pictures on ‘em!"
We’re independent woman, me and my mother. Basically what that means is we forget a lot of things.
Hmm, what do we need to buy again? I don’t know, I need some new hair dye I think.
I’m not excusing his immoral presence, I’m just looking on the bright side. At least we have sandwiches.
How can I hate this person? He actually comes into my house, travels the 20 feet from the front door to the kitchen and first thing, opens the fridge. Seemingly he makes a note of everything that’s not there, and then 30 minutes later he brings us these things.
Stocks the fridge with milk and juice, sparkling apple cider, water, coke and slices of deli meat. Bread! How long has it been since one of us, me or my mother, has remembered to buy bread!? Joyous bread, creator of the sandwich.
He gives us tuna and mayonnaise and mustard and lettuce to put on the bread in any order we see fit.
He brings us potato chips and twinkies (I don’t know why, but who cares, I like twinkies.)
He buys us trash bags, something we can never seem to keep hold of. He buys us dishwashing soap.
If this man were to give me gifts solely for me, jewels and clothing of the finest kind I doubt I’d like it quite as much as finding my house surprisingly stuffed full of it’s everyday needs. There’s something so nice about a house full of conventional stuff.
Where’s the milk and the cereal? Why it’s all right here!
We’re all out of toilet paper!? No we’re not, we’ve got loads!
What about the paper towels? Yup, four new rolls! They’re even the ones with the pretty pictures on ‘em!"
We’re independent woman, me and my mother. Basically what that means is we forget a lot of things.
Hmm, what do we need to buy again? I don’t know, I need some new hair dye I think.
I’m not excusing his immoral presence, I’m just looking on the bright side. At least we have sandwiches.