I was so sad. So, so sad.
The night had gone so well. I’d maintained an air of patience as I scratched Olivia to sleep. Alyssa was quietly working on a combination lock in preparation for fifth grade which will bring lockers with actual locks she’ll have to figure out. She’s been stressing over this for the past week or so as school looms in the fairly near future.
But when I extricated myself from beneath Olivia’s legs on the couch and made my way to the kitchen I saw that the living room light was on. That light is never on. I checked. And there he was. The sight brought just a little sadness but I pushed it back down and went back to watching Master Chef. Ahh yes, good guilty pleasure television will take away any sadness.
Except it didn’t because I glanced over and saw that he’d left something in front of the back door. He’d left it for me.
With resignation, I got to work but the work made me so sad.
Snapping green beans in preparation for canning is such a sad, sad job. It is so monotonous and even, sometimes, gross. There are often slimy bits on the beans. What are those slimy bits? I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.
So I snapped and snapped and snapped some more. Alyssa laughed at me each time I lamented just how sad I was. Then she’d toot and announce the toot, to which I’d reply, “You’re toots aren’t making me any less sad.”
Tom was no help either. Each time he ventured into the kitchen I’d tell him how sad this job was making me. He’d just say, “I know. I’m sad too.” Then he’d go back to his own sad job.
But hey, the bucket holding the beans didn’t turn out to be bottomless. I did reach the bottom and then, glory of glories, the last bean. And the sadness lifted. The beans were done. Until the next picking. Which can be almost as sad a job as snapping.