Frustration

As if Mama doesn't have enough to do with a 55+ hour a week job, all the household chores and shopping, and chauffeuring duties, I go and make it extra difficult by spilling an entire big bowl of red and black chili beans, my dinner, all over the kitchen. The bowl slipped out of the paper towel I was using as hot pad to take it out of the microwave, just slipped right out of my grasp . . . all over the microwave door, the drawer, both sides of the cabinet door (because it never shuts all the way), the side of the fridge, and about a 2' square section of the floor. And I can't clean it up. I can't squat or bend or kneel to scoop up the mess. And it won't be good for my broom or electric broom or steam mop. It's just going to have to stay there, my red stain of immobility, now covered in paper towels of shame, all over the floor that was meticulously mopped today, until Mama can come home and clean up the cold, staining, gloopy mess. She must love me. Because she said she'll come home tonight anyway.