The train ride home felt at least an hour longer than usual; which was unfortunate considering her day had consisted of endless meetings and a fresh, pungent coffee stain on her favorite blouse. All she wanted to do was go home, shower away her sins, and try on her new lingerie (specially ordered online and intended to give her some damn self-esteem).
Thankfully, her walk home from the station passed quicker. She had her keys jingling in the lock in no time. In her haste to get under a steaming jet of hot water, she tossed them wildly towards her kitchen table, and only paused to lay out the new bra and panty set on her bed before sprinting into the bathroom.
That was her second mistake.
The first one happened years ago. when she made the compulsive decision to give her close friend (and hopeless infatuation, let's not keep secrets) a key to her apartment. At the time, she was skeptical- and with good reason. He had a habit of showing up at places with a request for spontaneous adventure and was prepared to engage anyone and everyone in his brilliant plans. But nonetheless, she had trusted him with a key- which, coincidently (I think not) he now used to unlock her front door.
He was a unique person, that's for sure- first, he made a beeline towards her fridge and cracked open a can of her cherry coke (both their favorites- and of course, he took one for her as well. She would kill him if he didn't). Next, he hung up her keys (which goes to show he might not be all bad), and lastly, began snooping around the apartment in search of the woman he would one day marry.
Naturally, he ended up at her bedroom door. He was a man, of course- a man with very little impulse control. In fact, the little control he did have was on the other side of the door, showering.
Things were meant to go bad.
What happened next was possibly the world's greatest and best-timed sequence of events to ever transpire. The gods themselves couldn't have planned it better. It was a disaster, and it was beautiful.
He walked through her bedroom door and immediately fell head first into a staring contest with the scraps of silk and lace and sex laid out in all their glory on her navy blue bedspread. The staring contest was so intense, he failed to a) hear the sound of running water, and b) recognize the creak of it being shut off. She walked through the door, damp, pink-skinned, thoroughly steamed and moisturized to find the love of her life ogling her new underwear.
Human instinct grappled for control of her mind, yanking the controls sharply left into panic mode- she screamed, which made him scream and jump. The very last, and probably most important thing he had forgotten to notice was the half-empty bottle of coke still in his sweaty hand. Up, up, up it went, propelled by adrenaline and pure terror, arching high over their heads like a sticky, sugary bomb before flipping in the way that defied physics and spilling the thick drink across her bed. It went everywhere; the blanket was soaked, the pillows sprinkled, the sheets underneath suffocated by wet fabric- but worst of all, oh god, worst of all, her fresh, new, perfect lingerie took a direct hit. Within seconds they were ruined. Soggy and useless, practically disintegrating before their very eyes, they sat limply, looking like a sick animal waiting to be put out of its misery.
Planet Earth had never seen a greater tragedy, and all its inhabitants held their breath in anticipation for a bloody, ruthless World War III.
"Oh, shit."
YOU ARE READING
Failures
Random~in which i give greek tragedies a run for their money. euripides, i'm coming for your brand.~ a.k.a. i set up a common plot and then ruin the happy ending!!!!
