The cell phone rings. Only one bastard in the world would make me search through the hellhole that is my pocketbook before at least two large cups of tea kick in. It’s the same bastard who stupidly put the frying pan away in the frying pan drawer so I couldn’t find it, because it’s too early to see anything that’s not already on the counter. I probe through the flotsam and jetsam, crumbs and USOs (unidentified sharp objects) until I pry the iphone out of the purse.
In my dragonbreath voice.”I KNOOWWWWWWWWW.”
“You know what, Sweetheart?” asks the tender male voice.
“I know you’re going to nag me about that THING.”
“That INSURANCE thing. About that lady hitting the car door.”
“No I wasn’t,” he says, “But I’m so proud of my darling girl for thinking of it. That’s very responsible.”
Where. Is. My. Tea. “Then WHAT?”
“They’re having a lecture tonight at the Met. It’s about . . . I thought you’d want to go.”
GO? To New York City? TODAY? I can’t even imagine finishing breakfast right now. The answer is a thousand times NO. I pour hot water in the cup, watch brown curls rise from the teabag into the water. I stir it, take a sip. Oh god I love tea.
“What’s the lecture about?”
“It’s called ‘Power and Propaganda in art in the ancient Middle East.”
I slam my hand on the table. “DAMN IT, I’m interested in that.”
“Well, it’s up to you, Princess. Whatever you want.”
Deep breath. “I know I’m crabby in the morning. I’m sorry I’m such a B. It’s not you–”
knock over jar of colored pencils.
“DAMN IT!” I yell to the kitchen.
“Talk to you later, angel,” he says. “The bell just rang. Love you!”
It’s morning in America.
Writing Prompt: On which side of the bed did you wake up this a.m.?
:”You know what, Sweetheart?”