Ottoman In The Kitchen

Got inspired when I almost cracked my head open in my kitchen.  Have some renovations going on in the living room and some of our furniture somehow migrates from there into the kitchen on odd days.  Can you guess what happens to be in there at this very moment?

Ernest Hemingway hippo ottoman

Image by swirlspice via Flickr

Yeah, right!  Only in my dreams!

I had just gotten back to my parents house from the grocers.  They had gone on vacation and asked me to house sit since I was off from university for the summer and a bit at loose ends.  As I started to get the groceries out of my car, the neighbor’s son and my old friend, Todd, came over.

“Hey, Janey! Let me help you there, before you fall over,” he said grabbing one of the bags I was trying to hold before it fell.  I’m a four-foot-nothing shrimp, that could get knocked over by a stiff breeze.  He on the other hand is a huge bear and was captain of almost every sports team when we were in high school together.

“You know, making more than one trip from the car to the house wouldn’t kill you, but trying to get it all in one go might.”  Smiling his big cheesy grin, he grabbed the second bag that I over burdened myself with and the last few out of the trunk before following me in.

“Thanks for your help Todd.  Couldn’t Have done it in one go without ya!” I gave him my usual “I’m just teasing you wink” and led the way into the kitchen.  I started to make a beeline for the fridge when I heard him yell out, “Son of a!”  Todd always stopped himself before he actually cursed in front of a female.

I swung around as fast as my bags would allow, ready to drop them and run to the rescue and what I dropped was my jaw.  In shock.  Todd, big hulking Todd,  was dancing around, the bags laying on the kitchen floor where they fell surrounding, of all things, an ottoman.  As much as I was worried for my friend all I could think was that I wish I had a camera to record the sight before me.  To say it was funny, is an understatement of the highest order.

“Are you all right?” was the most I could say without cracking up in hysterical laughter.  As it was, I barely managed not to.

He finally stopped hopping around and glared at me, which greatly strengthened my ability not to laugh.  It was still a temptation, mind, but I was better able to contain myself.

“I’m fine, I just bruised my knee,” he said, right before turning his head and mumbling, “or broke it.”  He straighten up all six plus feet of him before saying, “you could have warned me about it ya’ know.”

“Actually I couldn’t have.  I didn’t know about it.”  He gave me a look clearly saying he didn’t believe a word.  My honor at stake I naturally defended myself.  “Seriously, when I stopped by earlier I didn’t even come into the kitchen, I just dropped my stuff by the door and ran to get supplies.  You can see for yourself, my bags are still by the door.  Besides, I wouldn’t intentionally not tell you and risk you getting hurt.”

“Fair enough, but what the heck is an ottoman doing in the kitchen?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.  I just chalk it up to the My Parents Are Nuts with capital letters category.  Come on!  How long have you known my folks?  And you ask that like you expect a logical answer?” Shaking my head in sad amusement, are you good enough to help me put stuff away or do you want to put your feet up?”

With a scowl on his face, “Ha.  Ha.  Ha.  Your dry wit is making me gasp with laughter.”  Shaking it off he said, “I’m fine.  Let me just move this thing first.”

“Please don’t move it.  I have no idea why they put it there and I don’t want to hear about it if my mother is on another feug-shui kick and we ruin the energy of the house.  Again.  Remember that?”

“Oh god yes!  Thank you for reminding me, forget I ever even mentioned moving it.  I am soooo not going through that again.  You know for such a small woman, your mother is terrifying.”

“I’m told it runs in the family.  Now, at least help me get the cold stuff away before the frozen stuff melts.”

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3 Responses to Ottoman In The Kitchen

  1. Jingle says:
    I am looking for poets to join the Rally week 27, I would be thrilled if you come this week again.
    I value your talent.

    let me know,
    otherwise, ignore.
    a butterfly award for you.

  2. Pingback: Accepting And Understanding Myself And My Writing | Novas Log

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