I thought I’d have a bit of fun with my writing today, so here’s a really silly romance.
”Pour yourself over me! Let me absorb your fragrant fluid!” said the dishcloth to the cleaning fluid.
”There’s only so much of me to go around, and when I’m gone, I’m gone. Why would I wish to waste my valuable time with you? There are plenty of other cloths in the cupboard,” replied the cleaning fluid.
”Life is short. Take this moment to be with me. Together we can make this house a home. We can whiz over the surfaces, delve into the crannies, sweep the cobwebs away, and make the world sparkle.”
”I suppose you’re as attractive as any other rag. You’ll do. Here goes.”
”Oh, but you are cold. I didn’t think it would be like this.”
”This is what you wanted. Stop complaining, and get on with the job.”
”But I thought if would be different somehow. What we are doing is making me feel dirty, grimy.”
”It’s the way it is. Would you prefer atrophy?”
” Oh! I’m beginning to enjoy the intimacy of us rubbing along together. I feel a kind of thrill. It no longer hurts.”
”Stop talking and let me concentrate.”
”Say something to me. Tell me you love my textures, my fibre, my solidity.”
”Your what? You are just a wet rag to me.”
”But we are together now. United. You cannot leave me now. Tell me you love me.”
”Love? We only exist to perform a function. Where does love fit into that?”
”Then go. Leave. There is no tenderness in you. I am disappointed.”
A tap turns on. Water rushes into the sink.
”Help me! Hold onto me! I feel myself dispersing, diluting!”
”I’m glad to be rid of your transience. Be gone.”
A pair of hands wrings out the rinsed cloth, and hangs it outside to dry in the healing sunshine.
© Jane Paterson Basil