Portia swore as she lowered her 300-lb body carefully onto her hands and knees and started to crawl gingerly around on the kitchen floor. She had warned herself that stopping in the middle of making croissants to remove her contact lens was NOT a good idea. But the speck of flour that insinuated itself between the contact and her cornea was unbearably irritating. Her left eye had teared so badly that the croissant she was trying to shape became soggy.
Sighing, she carefully slid her hands over the tiled floor, once more cursing her decision during last year’s remodel to use small, textured ceramic tiles instead of the 12” smooth travertine she had originally planned on installing. So much for decisions based solely on price. “Stupid woman,” she berated herself. “Stupid, stupid woman!”
There it was! At least, it looked like her stray contact. It was in the corner under the edge of the cabinet, nestled comfortably on a large dust bunny next to a piece of kibble. “Guess I didn’t find all of the dog food that I spilled this morning,” she muttered. “Oh, well.”
Portia crawled towards the errant lens just as Percy, her 10-year old Corgi, bounded into the kitchen. This looked like a fun game. Portia didn’t get down on the floor to play with him very often. “Go away, Percy!” she exclaimed, shoving the excited pooch aside. Oh, this was a really fun game! Percy came bouncing back for the next round. “Bad dog! Go away!” Portia shouted, as she reached for the contact lens. Percy looked toward the target of Portia’s outstretched hand. “Kibble!” As if by magic, the floor was licked clean. No more kibble. No more dust bunny. No more contact lens!
Portia looked at Percy. Percy looked at Portia. Now what? Portia was in tears; this was her last pair of contacts. She had a half-finished batch of croissants on the kitchen counter and no way to see what she was doing. She stood and stared at the wreckage of her day, just as her phone rang.
“Hello, Portia, this is Cindy from the Vet Center,” she heard. “I’m calling to remind you that Percy is overdue for his check-up.”
“Can I bring him in today?” Portia asked. “He’s just swallowed a contact lens and I need to retrieve it, pronto.”
“Let me put you on hold a minute,” Cindy replied, “while I check with the doc.” As Portia stood, phone in hand, she heard a gurgle and splat behind her. She turned, to see Percy standing beside a moist wad of dust and dog hair floating in a pool of yellowish liquid.
“Never mind, Cindy,” she sighed. “I just found the lens.”
©2013 Phyllis Entis. All rights reserved.
A Note of Explanation: The "prompt" for this piece was to combine an everyday disaster with a phone call from someone who has been out of touch for a long time and who offers assistance.