Tuesday, August 28, 2012
The atmosphere in the kitchen is stuffy. It is the aftermath of a broken promise of rain that evening. The tears continue to flow down my cheeks. They have reached pouring stage since two minutes ago and I do nothing but endure them in silence like I have been doing for a while now. I make no attempt to wipe them on my apron or my sleeve because both easy access sponges are soaked to saturation with my lachrymal brine.
I make use of a series of sniffs to keep my running nose from joining the moisture party on my face, raging already, courtesy my tears and sweat. I go about my work, with extra caution now. My husband is in the living room and I don’t want him to find out about my state of affairs. He doesn’t like it when I bring out the waterworks and he has already reprimanded me twice, harshly at that. He doesn’t understand that all my toil, is ultimately for him. A strong sniffle breaks free of me, before I could help it. I freeze for a moment because I fear he must’ve caught wind of it.
‘Honey,’ he calls out from the living room. ‘I can hear you sniffling again.’
I try hastily to finish what I am doing but before I can hide the evidence, he appears at the kitchen door and fixes me with a glare. ‘How many times do I have to ask you to use the vegetable cutter with the lid? Look at you, dicing onions in the open again! You are going to spoil your lenses,’ he utters. I stand there, caught red-handed, being told off for my laziness in not using the cutter.
He shakes his head and wipes my tears with his handkerchief. ‘Don’t exaggerate when you blog about this tonight,’ he tells me, as he kisses my forehead and walks away with a smile.
Image courtesy : http://www.holesinyoursocks.com/2011/02/07/onion-tears-2/
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scribbled by Lazy ThinkTank