Washed Up

It’s not by chance that invitations now extend to lunch; on rare occasions Wednesday bucks the trend and I eat supper with my friends as we all watch our wrists, conscious of the morning’s plans for the virtual lives we live.

I completely understand how this came about. A critic might cite reasons lent to time and life, becoming Mother, Othered; yet I know, some time ago I realised, once the party had dispersed, that washing up for others was no accident of birth.

I’d rather meet to meet than eat.

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