When Aunt Maud was ladling something from a pot, I fished antibacterial wipes from my satchel and began wiping the forks. She caught the sight of me.
Just the other night I drifted into Aunt Mauds cottage on a sudden errand I had to drop off a few papers. We only see each other at Christmas, yet this time the need was urgent. She isnt thriving, though it has nothing to do with money. Im not miserly; I believe tidiness is the foundation of any home. One can live modestly, but the house must be kept in proper order.
The parlour wall is festooned with countless dustcatchers. Little figurines, tea sets and jars of preserves are stacked in neat piles, each tower reaching dozens high. In the bathroom there is a small litter box for the cat Aunt Maud gives it a wash once a week. Rubbish tumbles at my feet. The air in the flat smells of sewage and rotting food.
Aunt Maud offered me something to eat and began setting the table. As she arranged the dishes I noticed they were filthy. While she was ladling from the pot, I slipped the wipes from my bag and started cleaning the forks.
She saw me. When I started poking around the food, Aunt Maud asked, Arent you hungry, or do you dislike the taste?
What could I have answered? Had anyone else ever found themselves in such a strange, dreamlike moment?
