Lady things

It was a hazy morning. I pressed the button on the coffee pot and stared out the window at the gloom. I turned on the sink and waited for water that never ran from the tap. Shoot, I forgot to pay the water bill again. Today would be just as horrible as I had imagined. A shower

would not be happening after all. I grabbed a shirt from the floor. Phew! It passed the sniff test, but barely. Just good enough to get to the coffee shop. I ran down the steps from my apartment and crashed right into the last person I ever wanted to see.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" asked my parole officer. "Just to the coffee shop," I said. "Around the corner. Don't worry—I'm not leaving the 50 mile radius." Officer Crumbcake sniffed, then asked, "Mind if I join you?" "Um," I said. "Thanks," he said, "My wife left me &

I don’t know how to do a lot of those “lady things”. “Like what?”, I asked, knowing I’d regret the question. “You know, making food. Buying food ingredients. Cleaning plates or cups. Buying toilet paper. I’m too manly for that stuff.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to figure it out then. There hasn’t been a woman here in nearly a decade. So if you think you’re too manly to handle it, you’d better try your luck at the next town,” I said with a wry smile, slamming the door in his face.

He didn’t knock again. It would be another ten years before a man walked through that door again. I’d be gone by then of course. Off in search of a real utopia, not this crass simulacrum. I’d done my best, paid my dues, and decided to move on—there were others who needed me more.