Monahan 01 Options by Rosemarie A D'Amico

into the living room to open some windows. I gave a nervous, sideways glance at the fishbowl to see if Snapper the Fourth was still alive. I hate facing death straight on and I wasn’t up for any shocks. I was relieved to see he was swimming around as usual and fed him a few morsels of fish food. My luck was holding.
    I grabbed an overflowing ashtray and dirty coffee cup off the desk and took them into the kitchen. No time like the present, I thought. I emptied the ashtray and started loading all the dirty coffee cups into the dishwasher. I tried to reach the window over the kitchen sink and found myself balancing on my stomach on the counter with my feet off the floor and one hand in the kitchen sink. I vowed to ask Santa Claus for about three more inches in height this Christmas.
    I gave up my balancing act and hooked my foot around a small step stool beside the stove and dragged it over in front of the sink. I felt like the king in the castle standing on the top step of the stool and was able to unlatch the kitchen window and open it. I turned around and surveyed my domain and was disgusted to see dust bunnies on top of the refrigerator.
    I decided to get out of my work clothes before I started on my manic cleaning routine and headed for the bedroom where I stripped off my clothes and peeled off my control top pantyhose. Now that’s relief. The pain we go through to look good. After fumbling around in the pile of discarded clothes on the floor I found my sweatpants and an old shirt. Clothes were sorted into two piles, laundry and dry cleaning. I stripped the bed and added the sheets and pillowcases to the laundry pile. I was on a roll.
    I considered myself lucky because I had a washer and dryer in my apartment. I loathe doing laundry and the chore became more hateful every time I had to schlep to the laundromat so a couple of years ago I made the plunge and bought an apartment size, stackable washer and dryer. Technology at its finest. A load of whites went in first and I grabbed the plastic dishpan that held all of my cleaning supplies and marched off to battle.
    By the time I finished cleaning it was nine o’clock. I sat on the couch, lit a cigarette and looked around me. Beautiful. My stomach was calling and together we thought about dinner. My mind inventoried the food in the fridge but my stomach was yelling for pizza. I couldn’t argue.
    Tony’s Pizzeria, in my opinion, was one of the best in Toronto. Alfredo answered the phone.
    “Tony’s Pizzeria,” he said with a thick Italian accent.
    “I’d like to speak to Tony,” I said in a thick Irish brogue.
    “Tony’s not a-here, can I a-help you?” Alfredo replied.
    “Hi Al, it’s Kathleen.” I dropped the phoney brogue. Tony had never existed but this was a game we played every time I called. Alfredo was Puerto Rican but had a great, just off the boat, Italian accent when it suited him.
    “K-k-Katie, beautiful Katie, you’re the only g-g-g-girl that I adore,” he sang. I cut him off before he finished all three verses of the old wartime song.
    “I’m hungry,” I stated.
    “The usual?” he asked.
    “Oh yeah,” I drawled and the saliva in my mouth started up as I thought about the sauce on the pizza, lightly spiced and the gooey cheese. “Just mushrooms and lots of cheese,” I reminded him.
    He sounded insulted that I had to remind him. “I know, I know,” he said. He dropped his voice a little and said in his sexiest voice, “So when are you gonna let me take you out for a real meal?” This was another game we played.
    I lowered my voice and whispered into the phone, “Ooh Alfredo, you name the time. Just let me know when your wife can line up a baby-sitter, or better yet, bring all the kids and your wife, and we’ll make it a real party,” I laughed.
    “Pizza’ll be there in about twenty minutes. Ciao baby.”
    I was chuckling as I hung up the phone. I headed to the kitchen to set the table and find my purse to pay the delivery boy.