Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Fried-Velveeta-Miracle-Whip Sandwiches

I don’t remember exactly when the kitchen was remodeled, but one day there were white counter tops complete with golden flecks. There were plastic Robin egg blue curtains and a microwave new enough to act as a status symbol among the neighborhood girls.

She was indeed the first on the street to own a microwave. Now she had a bit of extra time to light her own cigarettes. There was no man to light them for her and so she would flick restlessly through the television channels on her evenings off.

I could tell that in many ways the microwave calmed her nerves.

Favoring bright colors in dress and in makeup
my childhood memories became scented clouds of sugary hairspray.

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