Well, good riddance is what I say. That man about ate everything in my pantry and then some. Only have half a box of cereal left, goddamn it. I hate the grocery store–wheelin’ around those carts with them squeaky wheels. You get your stuff and try to get in a line but lord I always wind up behind some kinda coupon fiend storin’ up on toilet paper and bleach. You put everything in bags and haul it to the car and drive it home and unload it and then put it all away. Look, the kids are gettin’ off the bus and it’ll be a circus in here in a minute so I’ve got to go. I’m exhausted and really, is it too much to ask to have a little Cool Whip left? I thought about puttin’ a lock on that freezer in the garage. Didn’t do it, but sure wish I had.
I had a coupon for that department store out near the bypass. You know how I like their towels the best and it has been so hard to find any in navy. I guess navy isn’t a popular color nowadays, but I have always thought it was a classy choice for a powder room. So I searched through the tower of towels on display, all folded up in these complicated, newfangled ways, impossible to really see what you might be buying, and I said to the girl in the linens department, I said–oh wait–I hear beeping–someone else must be calling–I’ll have to go–I bet it’s your father.
Your father has found the mother lode of stuff at a barn sale out County Route 9. There are bat droppings everywhere, but he remains undeterred. I’ll tell him you called.
You called me twice already. I still don’t know where the gerbil is. I’ll look again later.
Justin’s Note: Sarah Bigham is a mystery. A wonderful writer in both prose and poetry, but damnit she’s a mystery. Is this prose or poetry? Does it matter? Please, take a step back and read through this piece again. Sarah Bigham reads, teaches, and writes in Maryland where she lives with her kind chemist wife, their three independent cats, and an unwieldy herb garden. Some of her work has been published. Most of it has not. Find her at www.sgbigham.com.