Ignorance Is Bliss

How can someone be that ignorant? Beth is beside herself, shaking with fury, literally biting her tongue until she begins to taste that metallic sting of blood in the back of her throat. Thinking about things while standing in the checkout line, replaying the last three days over and over in her head, waiting to buy three new tea towels to replace the ones now burnt to a crisp along with a new mop head and three bottles of Lysol. This makes Beth shake and hum out loud, much to the disturbance of the woman ahead of her in line who shoulder checks with a look of curious irritation. Beth is wracking her brain- had Karen always been this filthy? When she stayed with her last year in Tahoe, Beth learned that Karen's idea of cleanliness was not on par with hers but then Karen flushed the toilet and took showers.  At least Beth thought so at the time. Karen's visit has turned Beth's apartment in a toxic waste zone. Twice Beth has had to clean her own toilet of crap sprayed all over the seat and empty the waste basket of crap filled toilet paper. The waste basket next to the toilet where one would normally put such soiled toilet paper. The fresh linens, including a hand, face, and bath towel, have gone untouched, still folded neatly in a pile on the vanity, undisturbed from last Wednesday. The brand new individual bar of soap bought specifically for Karen by Beth as welcome guest soap has yet to be unwrapped. How does one not shower? Ever? Especially after one soils themselves. Beth is cracking up, her anxiety is killing her. She needs a yoga class or something, anything that will help her deal with this tornado of filth that is ensconced in her guest bedroom. Three days is an eternity; all Beth thinks about is sanitizing her entire apartment- the floors and walls and sheets and cupboards and bathroom- oh, the bathroom! What if Karen didn't wash her hands. Beth's humming has increased to the point that the cashier stops swiping her items and asks if she needs help. "No, no, no- I'm ok, I am ok, I am."  Beth pauses, regroups. She feeels waves of guilt wash over her. Evidently Karen must be sick; she must not realize that she lives like this and Beth keeps her mouth shut for fear of embarrassing either of them or even worse, risk humiliating Karen. She likes Karen, she does; since her chemo and recovery, the diabetes kicked in and she's just not herself so maybe it's all related. The guilt and anxiety are eating Beth alive. She keeps repeating her mantra, silently this time: If I clean my apartment everything will be normal. The cashier rings her Lysol and mop and tea towels through. Beth vocalizes a loud ahhhhh with a sudden realization. The cashier stops mid swipe. "Do you sell pressure washers? I could use a pressure washer. Yes, that would be good."

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