Wednesday, March 22

"What was it that made things go wrong? The rooster that woke me up at dawn so that I was tired and careless? Being concerned about Tim and Tina, snoring away on the kitchen floor when they should have been running around? That rock Johnny bowled across the lawn onto the cellar-door? It gave me such a start! The weather was getting stormy (should have known what was coming from that rosy-fingered dawn!), and things do turn whenever that happens. Charles said it was the fault of ghosts, no point trying to stop them--of course he would say that: he's the one who claimed a single spoonful of cream wasn't enough, there ought to be half a dozen at least. Then Johnny snitched my bread for his snack--didn't leave any more than he took, the rascal! Whatever, I'm not serving this soup to anyone.

"Maybe all these things were responsible. But my bet is it was the poodles. You can't cook properly with them around. Not because they're poodles, naturally. They happen to be a race I adore."

--Harry Mathews

fr. Selected Declarations of Dependence
[Los Angeles: Sun & Moon Press, 1996]

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