I had the Sunday New York Times and Louisville Courier Journal spread out, debating between the “Week in Review,” the “Style” section with the hunky Olympic hopeful, and the comics in the local paper, when my phones began to ring. As a result, the rest of my Sunday afternoon was consumed with phone calls about petty disputes between other people in a business matter. Don’t other people’s disputes always seem sort of petty?
In the midst of all this telephoning, I had a beer drop out of the fridge and spray all over the kitchen, inside the fridge, the cabinets, appliances, countertop, rug, me and everything else. Not since
erupted has there been such a beautiful spraying machine. Did I mention I am
allergic to the gluten in the beer? So I really had to clean it off of
everything that might come in contact with food. Then I had to take a shower
and wash the rug. Mt. Vesuvius
The one thing I have to say, though, is the beer felt mighty cool. In the moments before I picked up the beer and tossed it into the sink, spraying what little of the kitchen had not already been sprayed, I was transported back to childhood, playing in the sprinkler on a hot day. Maybe we need to all try to see the world for a few moments like a kid sees it—for the fun it might produce, rather than for the mess.
My husband had graciously done the grocery shopping and then agreed to barbecue. So I guess I have to get him another beer now. There wasn’t much left in that first can.