Member-only story
Toast and Prefrontal Cortex
This is a rant
This morning, I forgot where I kept my toast. The bell rang just as I walked past the bathroom. There was a pile of unwashed clothes next to the sink. I scooped them under an arm and launched into the shed.
The laundry woman stepped on the bell and the toast fell out of my mouth.
‘Cool you heels, woman. I’m coming.’
I stuck the clothes in the washing machine and opened the door. She stood there, one foot tapping against the floor.
‘Anything?’
‘Come tomorrow,’ I tell her. She climbs on her scooty and rushes off. Just as I’m about to shut the door, the veggie boy honks.
‘Anything, madam?’
I sigh, ‘Yeah, hold on. I’m coming.’
I snatch my wallet off the dining table and head out. Fifteen minutes and six kilograms of produce later, I’m back in front of the washing machine. Right. Detergent, water, ON. I look up the clock. It’s time to work out.
No point even searching for that toast now.
That’s kind of what happens everyday when I open the explorer. I’m looking to buy leather cleaner and one tab turns into eleven and before I know it, I’m judging my past self for buying leather goods.
