Saturday, November 19, 2005

The Elevator Ate My Wife

Daniel Gelding made a concerted effort to stop, pouring out bottles of bleach and Windex and reducing his arsenal of paper towels, disinfectant wipes, air fresheners and wood polish twofold. He did the dishes only once every three days and used the Sears-bought washer instead of the scrub method. Daniel's fingers became less coarse and dry and returned to the more suitable form of the hands he had before things got all mucked up, back when he was a respected tailor and a decent husband, a lover of museums and unscented candles. Then an elevator cable snaps and your wife drops with it, and in what can be explained as a horrible turn of events you develop tremors and the skill with which you once were a master now you were a convulsing pin-poking threat. He retreated and started cleaning. And Daniel was going to stop.

2 comments:

Kathryn said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Kathryn said...

Huh, I didn't know it was going to say comment deleted. That makes it look all mysterious. Anyhow all I said was I like this. and then I was going to add - kind of reminds me of Bradbury.