Story #2 She Only Meant to Dry Her (Small Workshop)

Danielle Orner
Story # 2
02/20/07
She Only Meant to Dry Her
It was a Wednesday when Mrs. Parking woke up to find a mess in her microwave. It took her a few minutes to identify the source of the multicolored, stinking blobs clinging to the walls, ceiling, window, and turntable of the microwave. It was the patches of white curly hair that finally tipped her off. When she felt how soft and clean they were (despite the splotches of red and grey matter splashed on them), she remembered the events of yesterday evening.
It all started when Fifi had knocked over the trashcan in the kitchen. Mrs. Parking discovered her rolling around in the almost empty tubes of denture paste, the dripping jugs of prune juice, and the crumbs of fiber crackers. After a thorough bout of scolding, Mrs. Parking swiftly swept Fifi into the bathroom and scrubbed her with raspberry scented poodle shampoo. Despite her anger, Mrs. Parking remember to remove Fifi’s pink collar studded with rhinestones and her matching bows before plunging her into the sudsy water. It was not until Mrs. Parking hauled the shivering, dripping Fifi out of the tub, that she remembered that she had lent her turbo hairdryer 2000 to the nosy redheaded lady upstairs. That was at least a week ago but the vulgar women had yet to return the appliance.
Mrs. Parking attempted to dry her miniature poodle with a vigorous toweling off but her arthritis kicked in before she could finish the job. Fifi shook violently while little goose pimples speckled the pink skin visible beneath her damp clumped curls and her itsy-bitsy toenails, which were painted fire engine red, clicked on the bathroom linoleum. Her baby blue eyes stared up at Mrs. Parking pleadingly. Fifi had been bad but Mrs. Parking was not about to let her freeze to death. She gathered up her little dog in a fresh, fluffy towel and went in search of a way to dry her. She thought about going upstairs to retrieve her hair dryer but the thought of climbing all those flights of stairs only to find that the red-haired lady wasn’t home made her decide to be resourceful instead.
Her first thought was the oven. Yet, the question of what heat setting to put it on and whether or not to preheat had her looking for a simpler option. Her second thought was the dryer but it cost a dollar fifty at the apartment Laundromat and Mrs. Parking wasn’t made of money. That’s when Mrs. Parking thought of the microwave. It was small but it would do. She coaxed the nervous Fifi into the little cube and secured the door. She meant to type in 5:00 minutes on the timer but her arthritic finger slipped on the button and added a few zeros. She didn’t check the digital display panel before pressing start. Then, she wandered back toward the bathroom to fetch Fifi’s collar and bows which were still on the kitchen sink. Before she made it down the hall, she forgot what she was doing (a thing that happened very often to poor, old Mrs. Parking). She sighed and shuffled into the living room to watch infomercials. Meanwhile, forgotten Fifi went around and around in the microwave.
After hours of infomercials (most of them missed by a dosing Mrs. Parking), the stiff, old lady got up, stretched herself, and went into the bedroom to go to bed. It wasn’t until the next morning that she found the remains of her faithful pooch exploded all over the interior of the microwave. She felt sad and a bit guilty for a moment before reminding herself that she was only trying to dry her little dog. With that comforting thought, she took her bowl of stewed prunes into the living room and watch soap operas.
It wasn’t until Saturday that Fifi was discovered again. Mrs. Parking’s eldest daughter came over, as usual, to help with the cleaning. She knew something was amiss when she didn’t her Fifi’s customary greeting of sharp little yips. Her suspicions were conformed by the stink, which was as horrible as you might imagine the four-day old fragments of an exploded poodle to be. She screamed when she went into the kitchen.
“Mother, what the hell is in the microwave?” Mrs. Parking looked up from her game show and thought for a moment.
“Oh, that’s alright dear. I was only trying to dry her.”