The kitchen: complete disarray from cooking soup--from scratch. (I can't seem to use the food processor without making a big mess...you'd think the thing had no lid and splattered like a toddler)
Me: working as quickly as I know how to clean it up
My thoughts: fixated on wanting to leave it exactly in its post-processor glory, as a tribute to the rare heights of domesticity I had achieved in this kitchen
Because here's the deal: I'm just immature enough to think that if I make soup from scratch, I want all the eaters in my household to be keenly aware of the labor and love and work and clean-up that the project entails. I want them (him) to look at it and think (say), "Wow, you really put a lot of love and effort into this. Thanks."
So I cleaned it up. I am trusting my eaters to have imagination (recollection) enough to be able to picture the kitchen totally trashed and myself dragging away from the table with regrets that I couldn't do another thing...
Maybe this new scene will leave a better aftertaste in all our mouths and a better memory in our minds:
The food appears plated on our table; the sink is empty as we eat.
(Only here, in the wild blue of my yonder-blog, do you know that I would actually think that a messy kitchen would somehow make a good meal more endearing.)