The Two-Step Kitchen Dance

A mere, off-brand trifle for the end of the week.

Inspired by recent domestic events, our dancer arrives on stage. Hair barely holding it together around a bun. Costume of long dressing gown has seen much better days. Bare feet are in need of a pedicure. Can not be clearer that she needs caffeine and should not be engaged by anyone for whatever reason until she gets it. Choreography will be spotty, not it’s usual swift back and forth, don’t-get-in-my-way sharpness. Upon seeing her in the wing, scheduled dance partner and prop dog high-tail it out of her way.

Dancer enters stage right. Pause at sink. Fills tea kettle. Straightens. Step to the left toward stove. Lower kettle, turn on the burner.

One step right to open cupboard, reach for cup. Becomes aware she should have stretched right after falling out of bed as old injury throttles her shoulder and shoots down her back. Grimace. Mumbles curse to ignore it and get on with the day.

Half revolve left, one slow shuffle pass the stove followed by another slow shuffle to the counter. Stop. Raise on toes, reach up to second open shelf. Take down pink canister and place on counter. Sluggishly opens canister. Digs down to retrieve last tea bag. Deposits it in cup.

Slow pirouette stage left, raise on toes, take down sugar bowl. Lowers down, feet in second position. Pause for three beats to pour two teaspoons into cup. Place sugar bowl back on shelf.

Our stage.

And freeze for ten beats while dancer remembers how many times she awoke last night. Four times. Four bloody times during which the house creaked and windows rattled with the biblically fierce wind and rain outside. Imagination ratchet upward (serial murderers; ghosts; God telling her she should work harder; last piece of birthday cake eating its way through her stomach). Dancer looks down at counter to where today’s newspaper is spread open. Regretfully reads headlines. Stifles a scream. Says her line, “lordy be,” to the empty kitchen, and executes a loose, but surprisingly vigorous, if not graceful, shimmy.

Tea kettle sings. Dancer straightens creaky spine, pulls creakier shoulders back. Picks up cup. Two shuffles to the right and stop. Right arm grabs hold of the kettle. Left arm steadies body against stove as dancer pours hot water into cup.

Meowing cat enters stage right and completes four revolutions around and through dancer’s legs. Dancer picks up tea cup filled to the brim with hot water and completes two steps right, then three steps left around cat, trying very hard not to drip hot water on him. Dramatic pause: dancer is tempted to drip hot water on his little meowing head because she’s irritable without a full cup of tea in her and you’d think the damn cat would sense this after ten years of living with the dancer. Finally, the dancer claims her better side and slouches stage left and thankfully exits the stage.

(Forgot to mix the sugar into the tea, returns, grabs a wooden spoon out of the jar and stirs, then throws the spoon into the sink. Believes she should curtsey to the one audience member, the cat, who is completely mindless about the part he played in the morning dance. Dancer exits once more. Retreats to the couch in the basement, her fortress of solitude.)

---