Monday, 24 October 2011

The Best Laid Plans

Sometimes things just don't go they way they're supposed to, which is why I write this lying in the guest bed in the computer room in my uncle's house, in an old t-shirt, freshly showered and smelling of manly, musk-scented Axe body wash and having brushed my teeth with a toothbrush my cousin brought home from their cottage by the sea.

Earlier today I arrived home at the apartment, thinking I'd come home just in time for karate at six, but my father met me at the door and told me my aunt had hurt her ankle and was in the hospital and couldn't I mind the kids until she came back? Of course I could. Mother phoned me several hours later from the hospital where she was attending to her sister-in-law and asked whether I wouldn't mind staying the night to help in the morning, seeing as my aunt's ankle was too swollen to carry weight. Which is why I now lie here with no fresh set of clothes for tomorrow and teeth that feel remarkably naked without their retainers, and I am quite liking the feeling of having to scrounge together odds, ends, and hygienic products from all corners of the house to make ends meet.

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