“Here.” I said, throwing the dustpan and brush in my friend’s general direction. She caught them with a stunned expression, holding them away from her as if they had somehow turned into a poisonous snake that was threatening to bite her.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” she asked, looking at me with that face. Clearly she thought I’d lost it again. I say again, I don’t mean to sound like I ‘lose it’ often! I’m just a little eccentric, not insane, just eccentric. However, my personality is a completely different explanation for a completely different story and not one I will ever take the time to go into. So back to the dustpan and brush.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” she asked, looking at me with that face.
“You use there to sweep up mess.” I told her, drawing out my words and painting on a smile. Sulkily she mouthed the words back at me while bobbing her head from side to side.
“I know their purpose.” she scowled. “What I meant is, what do you expect me to do with them right now!”
“You’re the one with the mess, not me.” I said. Diving for the cupboard under her stairs I rummaged around until I found the broom. It still had the flipping tag attached to it!
“Well this has had a lot of use.” I mumbled, ripping off the tag and turning back to my friend.
“So where do you want to start?” I asked, looking at her as she stood there in the doorway to her sitting room, dustpan and brush hanging loosely in her hands. Last night’s makeup still stained her cheeks and I could see her hand itching to touch the spot on her chest where the necklace used to rest.
“Why are you here?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at me. “I was horrible to you.”
“Yes you were.” I agreed, adding a firm nod to the sentiment for emphasis. “You were horrible last week, but now its this week and we have mess to clean up.”
“I don’t understand! You should hate me!” she said, her eyes threatening to flood again.
“Hey!” I warned, pointing at her with the handle of the broom. “No more of that you hear, at least not over me!”
Scrubbing the back of her hand across her face she managed to only spread out her mascara a little further and clock herself with the brush.
“Now.” I said, putting my best game face on. “Which mess shall we start with? The one in the sitting room or what he’s left of that heart?”