“What have you done?” I asked Emma.
We have a lot of “What have you done” in our house. We have a lot of incidents that warrant the question. With three of us rather odd people cohabitating it can’t be helped.
I’ve decided that our family mission statement should be “What have you done?” We all say it to each other so often that it doesn’t carry the same psychological baggage as it does for other people. Most people usually have this face of extreme rage, complete despair, or utterly desperate amazement. But not us.
“What have you done?” This time referenced a puzzle. I stood there gazing down at the Ye Olde Book Store puzzle that Layce and I have been slowly putting together for the last week. We had sections with like-looking pieces in piles ready to eventually find and join their puzzle brethren. Then Emma went all math on them.
“I’ve taken each piece, and depending on how many outty pieces they have, put them in the one bowl, the two bowl , or the three bowl. Then there’s the bowl for the wonky pieces.”
I was trying to wrap my mind around this idea as I stared into a Tupperware container with puzzle pieces that had three outties in it. I looked back at the puzzle. I was completely at a loss. “But how do I know where to even begin to put it? There’s this big gaping hole here and here.” I pointed to the puzzle.
“You build up from the bottom,” Emma said.
I still wasn’t getting it.
Layce walked in and turned on the iPod that we had inherited from a friend pre-loaded with 3,147 songs on it. We liked to spend the afternoon puzzling and playing “Name that Tune.” It was glorious. She sat down and stared at the puzzle board.
“What have you done?” There’s that quintessential question again.
“She’s gone all mathy on us. You know how I feel about math. It’s like this mental torture chamber for me. I see a theorem and get the shakes.”
“It’s called deductive reasoning,” Emma elucidated.
“What have you done with my Tupperware? What am I supposed to do when we have leftovers?” Layce said.
“Use other Tupperware,” Emma said blithely.
I was on the verge of having a puzzle melt-down. A full blown what-have-you-done to the puzzle melt-down. Layce looked at me. “It’s just a puzzle,” she soothed.
I could feel tears threatening and a good foot stomping tantrum coming on. “I can’t do it this way! I have to have the visuals. I can’t be mathematical. This is cruel and inhumane. This is like living in a foreign country and not knowing the language. You’re hungry and need to pee and you don’t know the words.”
Emma looked distraught. “I can just dump them back in the box,” she quickly said.
“I think that would be a good idea,” Layce said. “Just sit down here and listen to the song. What song is it?” she asked me. I knew she was just trying to distract me.
“The Rolling Stones, You can’t always get what you want,” I mumbled miserably.
Emma did her Puss-n-Boots face which makes you melt in your socks with remorse for saying or doing whatever it was you did. She emptied all the innies and outties and wonky pieces back into the box.
“See, all better,” Layce said. “And now you can wash all my Tupperware,” she said to Emma.
Going all mathy has its price to pay.
Making the world a happier place—one book at a time!
Steam: a collection of lesbian erotic short stories
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