The Potato Lady

Beware the long post!
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The female stirred.
Where was it?
She needed it. She pawed underneath the bed. Had it fallen while she had been sleeping? Nothing underneath there except millions of dust balls. She really should have gotten around to cleaning up, but with all the sleeping to be done, there just hadn't been time.
She sighed. It wasn't underneath the bed. Perhaps in the kitchen? She couldn't remember the last time she had held it in her hand, was it in this room? The bathroom? She hoped it wasn't the bathroom. It would be horrible to get it wet. She peered around the corner, looking for that familiar ball of brown. Nothing again, except a towel she had left on the floor in her hurry to watch Oprah. She picked it up and dumped it in an overflowing basket of dirty clothes. The towel fell. Oh well. She shifted uncomfortably. She'd better start the washing. After she found it though, it wouldn't do to start the washing without it. She sniffed her shirt. Fresh enough, she guessed, for another day. Suddenly she spotted a flash of brown in the corner of her eye. She whirled and stared. There it was! She had left it in the TV remote basket. She walked to it and picked it up. Stroked it lovingly. After all, where would she be without her potato?

She sat down at the table and shoved aside last night's dinner. Then she put the potato on the table and slumped forward on her chin to scrutinize it. She snaked her arm across the table and poked it. The potato moved. She felt calm. Its presence was soothing. She remembered that she had to get some things done. Start with a shower first? A shower first. She went and got her little carry basket and put the potato in it. She tucked it on her arm and went off to the bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later she was out. Now she had washed, she felt fresh. She looked at the potato and smiled. It was already two in the afternoon, but she had the whole day to get things done! Her potato was with here, nestled in the palm of her hand, and her life was complete. Almost. She just needed to clean up the house. Yes, clean up the house. When was the last time she had dusted? She didn't remember. She drew toe squiggles across the floor, watching lines appear. There was just so much to do. There was the floor, the bedroom, the washing, the plants - oh, were the plants still alive? She got up to check. Her peace lily was wilting. Poor thing. She grabbed a nearby cup and sniffed the liquids. Smelt like water. Dumped it on the plant.

She knew what she had to do. She had to start working! But what better way to start then by making a list? That's right, she had to make a list. Right, so first, the dishes, the clothes, the mopping, no wait, the clothes were probably more important than the dishes, so if she did them first she could do all the other stuff and be finished just in time to stuff them in the dryer. Oh. She had forgotten what washing clothes entailed. There was the wash, then the dry, then the fold, then the keep. Four miserable steps in all. Why couldn't they invent something to do it all, she mused. Okay, the list, the list. Washing first. Then the bed! And then the dishes. On second thought, she'd do the dishes first, something might fall and then she'd have to wash the floor anyway. She sighed and poked her potato again. What help was it now? She looked at it for a while longer and told herself to concentrate.

Washing, dishes, bed, floor. That seemed right. Well, she'd better get started. She headed for the the filled up basket and sat down next to it. She sniffed. Something smelled, what was it she had had for dinner that night? Was it the squid? Yeah, it was the squid. She squirmed guiltily. It wasn't her fault she had vomited all over the table that night when Marcus was here. She began to sort it out, whites and colours. Crap, she'd have to wash two loads because of that stupid colour thing. Colours first, she told the potato sternly. After all, all her innerwear was coloured.

Detergent, softener, press button. Done. She pushed the pile of whites to a corner and thought back. Dishes now. She grabbed her potato and moved on. Had she enough soap? Yes, she did. Now, you stay right here and don't move, potato. She was tired of all the carrying anyway. She glanced at it and sighed. Fine. She would take the potato along to the kitchen with her. It wasn't the potato's fault that it couldn't move around. The dishes were lying in several piles in the kitchen, and some were on the table outside. She took those in first, and pushed them all in the sink. There was a cracking sound, but she ignored it. It could have been anything, she reasoned. Not necessarily the dishes.

She remembered watching her mother wash the dishes with her pretty apron tied around her waist. It was quite amazing how fast she could do it, really. A scrub here, a rinse there, a whoops-that-almost-fell here, and she was done. She wished she could be like her mother. In this aspect, that is. Big plates, litte plates, saucers, cups, utensils. She glared at the remains of a mug at the bottom of the sink. Was it a gift? Yes, it might've, but there was little left to tell. She picked up the bigger pieces and threw them into the garbage. Which was full. Crap. Something else to add to her list. She wiped her hands and reached for her potato.

She was tired now, but she knew she had to finish her duty. But perhaps a little rest would do? A little while to sit down? 40 minutes or 5 winks or something like that. She cradled her potato and sat down in her easy chair. Bliss.

A sharp beeping from her watch told that yes, it was now five-thirty in the afternoon and yes, she had fallen asleep and yes, she had been incredibly lazy. She looked at the potato. This is all your fault, it seemed to say, and she felt a twinge in her heart. She yawned as she took out the clothes from the machine and dumped them into the dryer. The potato fell. She snatched it up from the pile of wet clothes and dried it carefully on her shirt. Then she inspected it. Not wet? Good.

The minutes seemed to breeze by for the potato as it sat in its cushioned basket, as she worked at cleaning the floor and eating. Mainly eating. She hadn't eaten since she had woken, and she was hungry. But now the floor was clean, and she was full. The bed had been made, and the underneath dusted, and everything was resplendent. Ahhh. Contentment. She rubbed the potato on her forehead as she waited for the clothes to be done. Soon after, the clothes were folded. The whites could wait another day, she declared, and went out for a walk with her potato.

The end.