Tuesday 7 September 2021

Rocking to nature's beat

Suds on hands

Whilst I have a dishwasher that does all the chores of a full domestic the cooking today did not require too much cleaning up as I made a stir fry. The beauty of that is you’re in and out of the kitchen in just 20 minutes or less.

To clean up, I had a frying pan, a ladle, a spatula, a dish, a fork, and a tumbler. All that could be handwashed and left to dry on the dish drainer, without ruining my manicure. However, as I turned on the tap and squirted washing up liquid on the sponge, I began to rock from foot to foot.

Rock my baby

Brian would know what that means, the fact that I can be so pressed when I am in the kitchen and rather than drop everything even as my bladder is bursting for immediate relief, the apparent rocking motion appears to buy me time to finish what I am doing before I literally have to run to the gents.

I sometimes wonder why my anxiety for release almost seems like a personal test of stupid endurance to no other end than to present possible embarrassment, if I wet my pants. Much as I have determined that I should just respond as nature calls, the rocking movement still offers some unexplained satisfaction. Is it the child in me afraid to ask to do what I need to do?

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