I Was Angry at the Crumbs

Dear Delyara, At the table, yes. On the counter, yes. On the floor, somehow, yes. But the crumbs themselves were not the true source of my irritation. The true source was that familiar evening feeling of being the person who notices the consequences of everyone else existing in the house. Noticing, wiping, clearing, restoring. I stood there with the cloth in my hand and knew perfectly well I was not a woman overwhelmed by bread. I was a woman overwhelmed by accumulation. That distinction mattered to me, even if nobody else saw the moment at all.