In a flu-leftover fever daze, I stood at the kitchen sink shoving weiners and meatballs down the disposal, watching as the weiners spiraled out of control and finally disappeared. It left me thinking how I have witnessed so many men spiral like that. Body all stupid and astute. Neck stiff, arms seemingly missing until something goes flying across the room, and suddenly the weiner has arms. I liked the way the meatballs went down, though. They went willingly. They practically cannonballed, wasted no time, and made no fuss. Just used all the breadcrumbs in ’em to suck it up and get on with it. The balls and weiners after the fridge clean out did not align with the garbage disposal, so the fucking kitchen sink clogged. Those weiners really showed me, so I hopped in Bossy and made my way to Target. 

When I entered Target, the lady manager who kicked me out almost a year to the day, greeted me with a smile and said, “Please make your selections quickly, we close in four minutes.” I looked like death. I survived my first portion of the flu, but I smelled like I did not. I had not brushed my teeth in a few days, and I was not in the win her over mood. We were face-to-face, and with the deepest exhale I could muster up with my weakened lungs, I sought revenge for having previously kicked me out of the store. Upon exhaling what sounded like wet gravel out of lips that so desperately missed grinning throughout illness, I said, “I just need Drano.” I placed extreme emphasis on the “o” as if by the end of the word I finally understood something rather simple. Her face went numb, her short spiky hair went limp, and she pointed down the wall with a trembling finger and goosebump-covered arm and said, “It is just past the laundry detergent.” Suddenly, I could feel a little pep in my step, fueled by a year’s worth of waiting for this moment. I fully used that pep to create as much of a wafting experience of my body odor for her as I pressed down on the tile with my soggy-soled mules, pushed off, pivoted a hard right to follow her finger, and walked away with gusto and a four-minute countdown. 

I paid for the Drano, Bossy returned me to my sick hut, and I proceeded to unclog the sink. It took three pours of the gel, followed by some hot water. I really stuffed the fucking sink. I start purging and cleaning well before I am in any position to do so when I am sick. I am notorious for this. Truthfully, I welcomed the sink telling me to go fuck myself. In a croup clouded cough, I cackled each time I poured more Drano down the sink. I turned on the switch for the garbage disposal, and instantly, hundreds of tiny maggots shot up towards the ceiling. They scattered across the kitchen upon their descent. Ethereal music played the entire time as I thought, holy shit, I have had maggots in my pipes this whole time. I sat there in disbelief, holding a plunger, standing in only the light of the lamp on the counter. Fucking maggots? Remember, I had a lingering fever, had not been out of bed in days, and likely had some disruption in my brain caused entirely by smelling like an asshole and looking like the inside of one. I have had many colonoscopies, so yes, I know what the inside of one looks like. Particularly mine, and my outside matched my insides. Maybe the maggots were here for me.

I worked in reverse to recall what all I put down the drain. It could not be maggots. It would have been quicker to name the things I did not, but alas, I recalled veggie noodles. Veggie noodles by the fucking pounds. In that moment, it dawned on me that the meat was never the sole problem. I always blame the meat. The stupid semi-stiff weiners only started the problem, the balls eagerly piled on, and the veggie noodles finished the job. So I made a deal right then out loud with God. If he just let me get all this shit out of the pipes, get everything cleaned up, and get back in bed, I would take it easy on the disposal and on meat. Momma had that mother running shortly after, cleaned up the scene, and crawled back into bed without brushing my teeth again. It has been a little over a week, and I am happy to report that I am back to brushing my teeth, and I have been taking it easy on the disposal. Fuck the meat. I am never in the mood for bullshit, especially when I am sick.