![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
joegodayes, it's a StoryTeller story, for those who are wondering, and for those who aren't, and for those who don't give a flip. This is a story in a story that has another story buried in it.. and as it progresses, there may even be a story in it.
She snuck out of her room and went into the kitchen. There was not an unwashed dish, there was not a glass out of place. If you opened the drawer where the forks were kept, you would see that every fork was perfectly arranged, according to size and according to use. If you looked at the spoons, you would find them all spooning with each other, as blissful in their perfect state as old married couples, or even those that are blissful and not married. The knives were all sharpened but kept in a separate spot, inside a door, where the blades were turned away from the user and only the handles could be grasped. Each blade slid into it's one little slot in the door, safe and snug. This was her father's invention, the knife cabinet, where the blades were safely buried and the handles were the sharpest thing you could grasp. "You never know when you might reach into a drawer," her father said, "and pull away a bloody stump! And then where would you be? Some school teacher you'd make, unable to grasp the chalk because you didn't have any fingers!"
Emily opened the refrigerator, which was always spotless, containing no spots at all, not even the odd spot of tomato juice that might have slid off a surprizing slice of pizza, if there had ever been a slice of pizza in the house at all. The refrigerator always smelled of bleach, and not some typical bleach, mind you, but the bleach that always smells 'Sunshiny fresh', so you couldn't tell there were caustic chemical lingering about. Even the lightbulb, which she was fully aware did indeed turn itself off when she closed the door, was clean, and polished and brighter than bright, whiter than white.
The aformentioned light spilled and ran over her from the opened door. If the aformentioned light thought it was going to do her harm by running over her, then boy howdy, it was in for the shock of it's life. Instead, it bounced from the fridge and snuggled her pink fuzzy robe and collided with her pink fuzzy slippers. It reflected in her brown eyes and reflected from her brown hair. She yawned a very large yawn, which caused the light to be swallowed up by her mouth, chewed by her teeth and exhaled, when she got around to it, through her nose.
She reached in and pulled out one of the hermetically sealed plastic wrapped, never touched by human hands slices of Dutch apple pie. It was something that helped her sleep, and one of the things that her mother actually let her daughter induldge in. "After all, since it's plain and clear that you will never, ever get to the Netherlands, I don't see any harm it would do you having a bit of that country in the form of good, old, american apple pie. Everyone knows that the Dutch would be nothing without us. Even Dutchboy paints was invented here."
It is true. Her mother did indeed say that and Dutchboy paints were invented in the U.S. of A., although the actual dutch process was really created in Holland in the 16th century. Her mother never let facts interfere with her reality.
She took the pie back to her room, and snuggling down between the blankets, carefully unwrapped the triangular prize so she wouldn't get any crumbs on her bed, on the floor, on the ceiling, or anywhere at all for her mother to find. That would be disasterous if it happened, and since it had never happened, and since Emily was always Very Careful, with a capital V and C, she never even thought about the disaster that would happen if she were to let one errant crumb loose in the house. Why, if one crumb, one tiny, itsy bitsy particle of brown sugared floured dough was to get loose, it could gather up an army of dustbunnies (which also didn't exist anywhere in the house), and lead them to victory over the sunny dustmotes (which also didn't exist anywhere in the house).
The house was kept as clean as if it were in a hermetically sealed plastic wrap itself, and her mother liked it that way. Her mother liked it so much, that she worked almost as hard cleaning the house as she did reminding Emily how hard she worked to keep it clean, and had reminded Emily of this fact since Emily was old enough to stand and hold onto a broom. "Emily Lu, you have no idea, and will quite likely never have an idea, how much work goes into keeping this house clean from clutter and dust. Why, with your allergies, all it would take is just one infected dust mote, and you would die, just die, from not being able to breath!"
It is not known if Emily had any allergies. She had never been tested, and to the best of her knowledge she had never sneezed. "And that just proves that I'm right all along! Lord knows where you'd be without all the work your father and I do for you." said her mother.
|
She snuck out of her room and went into the kitchen. There was not an unwashed dish, there was not a glass out of place. If you opened the drawer where the forks were kept, you would see that every fork was perfectly arranged, according to size and according to use. If you looked at the spoons, you would find them all spooning with each other, as blissful in their perfect state as old married couples, or even those that are blissful and not married. The knives were all sharpened but kept in a separate spot, inside a door, where the blades were turned away from the user and only the handles could be grasped. Each blade slid into it's one little slot in the door, safe and snug. This was her father's invention, the knife cabinet, where the blades were safely buried and the handles were the sharpest thing you could grasp. "You never know when you might reach into a drawer," her father said, "and pull away a bloody stump! And then where would you be? Some school teacher you'd make, unable to grasp the chalk because you didn't have any fingers!"
Emily opened the refrigerator, which was always spotless, containing no spots at all, not even the odd spot of tomato juice that might have slid off a surprizing slice of pizza, if there had ever been a slice of pizza in the house at all. The refrigerator always smelled of bleach, and not some typical bleach, mind you, but the bleach that always smells 'Sunshiny fresh', so you couldn't tell there were caustic chemical lingering about. Even the lightbulb, which she was fully aware did indeed turn itself off when she closed the door, was clean, and polished and brighter than bright, whiter than white.
The aformentioned light spilled and ran over her from the opened door. If the aformentioned light thought it was going to do her harm by running over her, then boy howdy, it was in for the shock of it's life. Instead, it bounced from the fridge and snuggled her pink fuzzy robe and collided with her pink fuzzy slippers. It reflected in her brown eyes and reflected from her brown hair. She yawned a very large yawn, which caused the light to be swallowed up by her mouth, chewed by her teeth and exhaled, when she got around to it, through her nose.
She reached in and pulled out one of the hermetically sealed plastic wrapped, never touched by human hands slices of Dutch apple pie. It was something that helped her sleep, and one of the things that her mother actually let her daughter induldge in. "After all, since it's plain and clear that you will never, ever get to the Netherlands, I don't see any harm it would do you having a bit of that country in the form of good, old, american apple pie. Everyone knows that the Dutch would be nothing without us. Even Dutchboy paints was invented here."
It is true. Her mother did indeed say that and Dutchboy paints were invented in the U.S. of A., although the actual dutch process was really created in Holland in the 16th century. Her mother never let facts interfere with her reality.
She took the pie back to her room, and snuggling down between the blankets, carefully unwrapped the triangular prize so she wouldn't get any crumbs on her bed, on the floor, on the ceiling, or anywhere at all for her mother to find. That would be disasterous if it happened, and since it had never happened, and since Emily was always Very Careful, with a capital V and C, she never even thought about the disaster that would happen if she were to let one errant crumb loose in the house. Why, if one crumb, one tiny, itsy bitsy particle of brown sugared floured dough was to get loose, it could gather up an army of dustbunnies (which also didn't exist anywhere in the house), and lead them to victory over the sunny dustmotes (which also didn't exist anywhere in the house).
The house was kept as clean as if it were in a hermetically sealed plastic wrap itself, and her mother liked it that way. Her mother liked it so much, that she worked almost as hard cleaning the house as she did reminding Emily how hard she worked to keep it clean, and had reminded Emily of this fact since Emily was old enough to stand and hold onto a broom. "Emily Lu, you have no idea, and will quite likely never have an idea, how much work goes into keeping this house clean from clutter and dust. Why, with your allergies, all it would take is just one infected dust mote, and you would die, just die, from not being able to breath!"
It is not known if Emily had any allergies. She had never been tested, and to the best of her knowledge she had never sneezed. "And that just proves that I'm right all along! Lord knows where you'd be without all the work your father and I do for you." said her mother.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 02:10 pm (UTC)(And in the paragraph that begins, "It is true." you need to put a final 'e' on 'interfere')
Hugs!
The sometime editor
*giggle*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 03:27 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 03:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 04:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 04:12 pm (UTC)Yeah, that works, too!
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 04:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 04:21 pm (UTC)I'm very glad that child is still there and she's even happier now than she's ever been.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 07:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-09 10:10 pm (UTC)I love this...
Date: 2005-11-13 11:23 pm (UTC)Re: I love this...
Date: 2005-11-15 04:21 am (UTC)