There’s no supper, not in the oven, not in the fridge — not even on the agenda — as I enter my apartment at 5:30 p.m.
WONDERLAND I step through the door of my youth. I’m Alice in Wonderland. The house smells of hearty vegetable soup. My stomach grumbles. Everything is in its place
T here’s no supper not in the oven not in the fridge — not even on the agenda — as I enter my apartment at 5:30 p.m. my eyes two slits taking in the world through a pounding headache.
Two toddlers indignant over the injustice of seeing no mama upon their homecoming (Papa is fast asleep on the sofa) greet me with shouts cries and what I guiltily detect as growls of hunger.
Before I get my bearings my husband is gone having signed off to the early evening job he holds. He went like a grass widower on an empty stomach with no food in his bag. I wish I could say it’s the first time.
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