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September 26, 2001
I was horrified to discover last night that I could not see myself in the dinner plate after I had washed it in regular, commercial dishwashing liquid. I remember a woman on television many years ago and she could see herself whenever she washed a dish. Am I doing something wrong? Am I a vampire?
While I'm at it, I suspect that my "whites" are not their whitest. Perhaps it is punishment for turning my back on the Tide and Oxydol of my youth. Is there bad Gain like there is bad acid?
And my coffee is not good to the last drop. A couple of days ago, I thought I detected a next-to-last-drop that was a tad substandard. Hell, I'm even having trouble finding that last drop. You can think you've drained your cup, but if you let it sit long enough, you can always coax into existence another last drop.
I went to confession yesterday for the first time since the eighth grade. At the top of my list was the admission that there are paper towels out there which absorb spills faster than my towels do. That's right, there are quicker picker-uppers.
The life of a domestic aesthetic is fraught with peril.
© 2001 by the beastmaster