Dear Diary,

I woke up today only imagining what I could lose today, You see, I've been losing things all week and it all started when Mrs. Grovermann the next door neighbor started giving me the evil eye, I just thought that it was her way of telling me that I failed at keeping up the suburban housewife image, And I don't blame her… after all, I didn't recycle, or keep my Hydrangeas alive for more than a week and of course didn't participate in the neighborhood watch. But today was different, I woke up with a numbing sensation in my mouth, and my nose felt stuffy; a cold in the summer, How could this be? I proceeded with my morning routines as usual , waking up the kids for school, making their breakfast, attending to my husband's whining. And at last, they left and the house was filled with nothing but beautiful silence. Just as I was helping myself to a cup of hot steaming coffee…. The phone rang, It was the bank calling to confirm some suspicious transactions made out of my account the day before. I put down the coffee, quickly gathered my things and left. Since I was out I figured I'd run my daily errands, dry cleaning, pay some bills, a quick stop at the bookstore, then I headed back home. It was evening; and this was the favorite part of my day, where I would relax and have a glass of sweet wine. I had loved everything about sweet wine, the tastes, the sensations, the smells, the feels of it lathering my throat with it's liquid coolness and the beautiful deep red velvet color. I picked up the glass and began to swirl, I took a sip and another sip and another…not tasting anything, I panicked and rushed to the refrigerator grabbing articles of food and shoving it in my mouth; everything, I mean EVERYTHING tasted like paper. 2 key lime pies and 12 bottles of wine later, I reveled in my dismay, How was it possible to lose your sense of taste? Wine had been the filler for my temporary voids of loneliness and now that I dragged myself up onto the couch and found the remote, I found a comfort in the evening soap operas for an hour or so. It wouldn't be long until the hour I dreaded arrived… the return of my kids you may ask? No, not this time… It was dinner. It was on THIS Thursday of all non – eventful Thursday's that my husband had to have a dinner party for his colleague's at work. But, I wouldn't be defeated, this was no job too tough for a housewife! I strutted myself into the kitchen and wielded my utensil's for the battle. Two hours later, I took a plunge into the couch, wounded and bruised but still standing, or sitting… whatever. I walked up stairs, clutching the hand rails for support, then It dawned on me that I consumed a great amount of alcohol today, and it's effects were now weighing on me. I made it to the bedroom barely and put on something appropriate for the dinner party. I then walked, sorry tumbled down the stairs just in time for the guests not to see. Cooking the food was half the battle, now serving and watching them eat would be another challenge that this time, I wouldn't be to eager to fulfill. Now, with my taste gone my other senses had heightened and the task of being sociable was too much to bear, I had no clue what anyone was saying all I could see and hear were delicious pieces of food being tumbled around chewed, savored and enjoyed… Within 30 minutes of the party, I had disappeared into the night. I secluded myself from the rest hiding in the closet, gnawing at my shirt hoping that even it would give me some sense of taste, I waited and waited and waited, it seemed like forever. Then… there was a knock on the door, I looked up and it was my husband, he had a piece of honey glazed ham in his hand, I tuned out all sounds examining the exquisite details of the glazed ham… I barreled out of the closet and staggered up the staircase, I ran into the bedroom and locked the door and began to weep… and it must have been for hours considering that's the last thing I remember.


A traumatized housewife.

P.S – I should start recycling, who knows what else I'll lose :C.

Review and Rate, it's my first. C: