Sounds Heard Outside the Disposal – Paranoia #3902B

Posted on February 20, 2011

4


The disposal listens:

“Look at this! Onions and green peppers. Filthy old onions and green peppers. No wonder it smells so terrible in this hole.”

“Baby, the disposal is twenty years old. What do you expect? Perfection?”

“Honey? Honey, if you’re going to stand around could you make me a whiskey?”

“That’s all you need. Whiskey while your hand is down a disposal. ”

“Make me one? Ah, damnit, look at this disgusting mess. Honey, will you make me one, please?”

“We don’t have any ice.”

“God damnit.”

“Hey! Watch your language. I told you to pick up a bag from the store.”

“Pick up a bag? Please, that’s a woman idea if I ever heard one.”

“Oh really? A woman’s idea? And?”

“And I need a man idea. For instance, I’ll take a bowl and fill it with water. I’ll put it in the freezer. When it freezes, I’ll chip pieces off with a knife. Problem solved.”

“Oh, and here I thought you were trying to offend me, but it sounds like a woman’s idea means a smart idea.”

“Look at all of this. None of it will go down the disposal. These apartments are trash. Just trash.”

“I talked to my mother on the phone earlier. She wanted to know if you decided yet. You know, about taking the job or not. I told her not to keep pushing. I told her you were a flake about these sorts of decisions. You know. Important ones.  Eight hundred mile ones.”

“Tell her we’ll see. Tell her to stop nagging.”

“She’ll keep asking though. She won’t stop. She asks about the “M” word a lot, too. I just say, Ma, have I shown you a ring yet?”

“You’re fidgety. Why are you so fidgety tonight?”

“I’m not. I mean, I’m just thinking and here. Take your whiskey.”

“Thanks, Honey.”

“Don’t wipe your hands on your jeans. It’s gross.”

“I could wipe them on you. They are your green peppers.”

“Gross. Get off. Stop it!”

“Okay, okay. These apartments are such trash. Don’t you think?”

“You know, I always wanted to live in a kettle when I was a little girl?”

“Well that’s ridiculous.”

“No it’s not. Most little girls want to live in castles and be princesses. I just wanted to live in a giant, beautiful tea kettle.”

“That’s ridiculous, honey. Honey, that’s ridiculous.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Yes it is. Kettles are made to boil whatever is in them. Think about it.”

“You’re such an idiot. It was a great idea.”

“The next place I live is going to be better than this. It’s not going to be a kettle, either. It’s going to be new or at least not more than a few years old. And it’s going to have granite counter tops.”

“Is it going to be in this city? That’s the question, Baby. You know, I don’t really want to move. I like it here. ”

“We’ll see. We’ll see, honey.”

“So, what’s the deal?”

“I think its dead. I think its dead, Honey.”

“Stop stalling. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay, but it’s not what you want to hear. It’s just not what you want to hear.”

“Let me hear it.”

“Okay, listen.”


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