I am in Target with all the other cool people to buy a few Halloween necessities when my eye spots a new version of my old black trousers. I check the size and the price and then toss them into the trolly to replace the ones with the ripped knee. It’s a pre-emptive strike on the next laundry crisis. I grab a new pair of white fluff muffs that already look dirty, by design rather than real life.
The following morning I am busy making pancakes for the masses. Everyone is in a state of semi undress when I realize that a visitor will be with us in ten minutes. I grab the bag from the counter and rip off the labels, pull them on and flip a pancake to the accompaniment of Elvis, ‘A hard headed woman,’ in the family room together with a combined confusing mantra of “Mar co, Po Lo, feel the power of cat, Garfield you are a natural.”
Their father is a picture of misery, fighting for sofa space to nurse his stress headache. I tune into the radio to catch the weather report as the Wii music competes for my attention.
I trip around the kitchen assembling syrup and cutlery, hampered by several yards of surplus fabric.
My daughter argues on the phone. An international call to her Grandmother, my mother, to debate who hits Daylight Savings first. Strangely it appears to be an exact replica of the discussion I had with each of them, on two separate occasions. I check my legs. They appear to be six inches shorter than they were a few minutes ago. The fluff muffs are muffled by material. I am not tall, but neither am I short. I have no idea what purpose the split serves other than to split nerves, but I’ve always been a bit short in the fashion department.