Saturday, February 23, 2008

Passion?

"There's got to be more to life than this!" she cried, standing in front of a sinkful of dirty dishes, a rubber-gloved hand shaking the soggy Scrunge towards heaven.

"Hmm?" he asked from his post at the kitchen table. His head and shoulders were illuminated by the laptop screen as he answered some emails, read the Guardian Online and snuck a few surreptitious glances at the Project Runway homepage.

She shuffled back and forth in her droopy yoga pants and Slippery Rock University t- shirt, picking up half-empty coffee cups and cereal bowls.

"I mean, we used to laugh at people like us!" she went on, stabbing into a corner or two with a dripping Swiffer and then shoveling an armload of newspapers into the recycling bin under the counter. "We were interesting, we were exciting, we had passion..." she trailed off. "Whatever that is." She picked up a box of Muesli Light. "Now we just have meals and chores and routine and comfortable clothes." She slammed the box down on the table. "I don't want to be careful and I don't to be comfortable and I don't want muesli. I. Want. Passion."

He looked up then with a little smile on his face pertaining to a witty article he'd just read, but quickly changed that into an expression of care and concern.

"You haven't heard a single word I'm saying!" she screamed at him, and stomped out of the room, if Birkenstocks were ever able to stomp.

Later that afternoon she was sitting at the laptop in the kitchen, paying a few bills and checking the various strangers' blogs that somehow seemed realer and more compelling to her than the lives of her own friends and family. She heard the front door open and he came in with a load of shopping from Trader Joe's. He set a plastic Walgreen's bag down on the table and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

She opened the bag and took out a small purple and black perfume box. "Elizabeh Taylor's 'Passion'?"

He opened some cupboard doors and was putting a box of granola away. "It's what you asked for, isn't it?" he asked innocently. "I didn't even know they still made the stuff!"

(Prompted by Sunday Scribblings)

16 comments:

paisley said...

oh girl.. that would have me in tears... not only does he not hear,, but he doesn't think and that nasty perfume stinks too!!!!! poor guy,,, he is clueless isn't he????

well i guess he did try.......

very nice write!!!!!

keith hillman said...

See! We guys are simply misunderstood!

Redness said...

Men ... they don't get it do they? Such a greaty name wasted on such a putrid smell ... love your take, well done!

extemporaneous said...

FABULOUS! Excellent scene, very real and relatable!

Heather

Patois said...

Perfectly written. I'm going to interpret it as his own little joke.

Sherry said...

I'm still laughing!!! I love your way with words -- the flow is beautiful. The story was told SO well -- and I think every woman can relate (I too don't want Muesli -- I hate being at this time in my life that is almost "mandatory")...and I think every guy can related to "getting it wrong"!!! As I said...I'm still laughing!!

ThomG said...

We're not all that dense. Or so I hope. This was very nicely done. What a great prompt. Everyone has done such a good job.

The Touch of Oneness

Rosie said...

I think you have seen already what I can expect on the present front. You were lucky to get something so frivolous...

Rob Hopcott said...

I've just come back from a weekend playing music at a mid-winter Festival Reunion on the South Coast of the UK.

It was wonderful and there were 'special moments' when we got it 'exta special right' when the world seemed to hang suspended waiting for the next note.

Where's the passion? Perhaps it's in the music and playing in public sessions with other musicians.

As I settle back again into my provincial small town existence, I remind myself that the real world is out there amongst my musician friends who are real feeling people, people with passion, people who love and play music just because it's wonderful and with whom I should make an effort to spend more time.

But, dammit, I missed a trick in not bringing back some scent ... What did you call that perfume?

Nicely written post, by the way :-)

tumblewords said...

Laughing - I've been there. Long ago and never again! Grin. Your writing rocks.

rebecca said...

oh, man...this was good...but how do you ignite fire into a firecracker that's gone dud? and he translated that into the perfume? the perfume that not only gives me a migraine, but i'm sure countless women as well.

good post....very, good post...

Amarettogirl said...

This was absolutely FANTASTIC!!! I loved this piece!!! The pacing, environment/setting, the cleaning supplies, the Meusli, the birkenstocks, the clothing...then there was the fast paced dialogue contrasted by his seemingly oblivious attitude - her blogger community...just awesome!!!!! Then the culmination - the perfume - Yes Men are from MArs!!! Thank you for sharings some great writing here and I can't wait to read more of your stuff!!

Rosie said...

I am sorry but I have tagged you for a meme to make up 7 weird and wonderful facts about yourself...again maybe? I hope not

katydidnot said...

fantastic! wonderful! i wish fiction didn't continue to elude me. the plastic walgreeen's bag? genius.

frankenslade said...

It's no ordinary word, all right!

Hope all is well with you. It was so much fun getting to work with you for our Stiff project.

amy said...

I'm thrilled by all these nice comments! I think Paisley is right - at least he did try. He even bought granola for a change, instead of the muesli!