Mother Drank Her Whiskey at Two in The Afternoon

It was her time; time alone. Time to listen to the music and dance. She put on her apron and pulled out her ironing board. The toilets were scrubbed. Dishes stacked. Floor vacuumed. She poured herself a whiskey with a glint of guilt. It was, after all two in the afternoon. Mother was honest to her own fault. It was one fifty-three. Mother shrugs her shoulders and gives herself a double. Some women watched the soaps. Under the guise of ironing, Mother drank and danced.

Many, many years later her daughter was overheard saying at her funeral, “Mother always did her ironing at two in the afternoon, yet I don’t remember my clothes being anything other than wrinkled.”

What they didn’t know is Mother used her ironing board as a prop on her stage of domestic bliss. She might have ironed a thing or two over the years, but two was her time. She told herself it was the equivalent of a business man’s lunch, only every day Monday through Friday.

It was her only escape. She had the playlist where her Knight in Shining Armor danced with her every day. He brought her flowers, remembered her birthday. They sipped whiskey. He held her hips and laughed when she stepped on his feet. He whispered in her ear. She could feel his coarse hair rub against her soft cheek. Spinning was always Mothers favorite dance move. She was quite good at it too as he spun her from room to room. From two until three-thirty she was happy. She had someone who loved her.

Mother drank her whiskey at two in the afternoon.