A Tragic Mix-Up

Sometimes we should leave well enough alone.

Strawberry-banana-guava smoothie ran down the cabinets and pooled on the countertop. It was everywhere, including my eyes. If you've never had guava in your eyes, you don't know what you're missing—and thank God for that!

I stumbled around the kitchen like a blind man, eyes shut tightly, groaning like Frankenstein's monster. I found a towel and pulled it to wipe my eyes. But the towel pulled itself away!

"James! What—?! Get off me, you are not wiping that crap on my new robe!" I was handed a towel, and I was able to wipe out my stinging eyes. My wife stood before me in her new white fuzzy robe, now marred by a pinkish-orange handprint.

"Lena, sorry, I—"

"You couldn't leave it alone, right? I told you this would happen if you 'souped up' the blender! There's a reason it only goes so fast, you idiot!"

"You know inventors only make breakthroughs once in a while. But you have to admit, if it had worked..."

Lena looked at me flatly. "James, by the time you invent something that really and truly works, Jesus will have visited this earth three more times! Now—" Her eyes went wide when she looked past me and saw the state of the kitchen.

"Now, Lena, I'll—" She started slapping me in the arms and chest, shrieking at me.

"My kitchen! James, look at that! You'll-" slap "-never-" slap "-get this-" slap "-clean!!"

I looked at the cabinets. The mess was soaking into the wood where the varnish had worn off in places. I hung my head and apologized.

She looked at me furious. "You know what this means, right?!"

"New cabinets?"

"Damn skippy!"

And that is how yours truly managed, one Sunday morning, to make a $2500 strawberry-banana-guava smoothie. Good job me.

(Word Count 297)