Taexalia

wild.life

Pink in Places

I was standing in the bath, post shower catching the drip with a towel, as you do, when the white oval bathmat on the floor caught my eye. It's a really insignificant bathmat usually, but on Sunday it appeared to have acquired a strange pink footprint pattern.I was bit puzzled as I hadn't noticed it before and I looked at my feet, and the bath, to see if I had somehow walked through a tin of paint. As you do.

Nothing.

I finished drying off and stood in the hall getting dressed, still eyeing this pink oddity. My eyes strayed to the sink where I spotted a sliver of the same pink substance, and then another streak this time on the bathroom light switch.

I am sure my brow furrowed as I imagined I had been transported into the world of Stephen King Does Barbie, and awaited the appearance of a slithering, one footed pink denizen.

I caught sight of a series of pink blots on the kitchen floor and it was only then it dawned on me..

Whilst making lunch the previous day, I had wanted a portion of the contents of a newly purchased jar. I had tried everything to open this jar with no success. The only thing I hadn't tried was an elastic band because I couldn't find an elastic band. I am sure there are four million elastic bands languishing in our storage pod, but the Cailleach only knows when we will be unpacking them, so the jar remained sealed.

I even tried stabbing the lid with a fork, which I hate to do because I like to re-use jars, but it seems the lid was not only attached to the jar with superglue, it was made from kryptonite and showed nary a dent in response to my frantic attack.

Eventually I decided that I will only work so hard for a lunch ingredient, and I gave in to the idea of asking a manly thing, or in this case @, to do it for me when he got home from work. He promised he would see to it and I wandered off trying to fix the dent in my feminist pride.

Many hours later (around 4am), @ was getting ready for work and remembered my request that he open this jar for me. It was 4am, it was dark, he was naked, our flat remains in a state of freshly decorated pristine For Saleness - and @ began to work the jar....

I was a little groggy from disturbed sleep that morning when I made it to the kitchen to not have a cup of coffee. Propped up against my porridge oats was an envelope with a love note from @ which read:

"Beetroot is opened! (Slight spillage though. But I cleaned it up)" xxxxxxx

When I opened the fridge to investigate how slight the slight spillage might have been, I found the jar half empty with very little juice in it. I am still finding stray spatters of pink.

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