Mostly True Memoirs
IT WAS A MYSTERY
It was a mystery.
At 6:00 am, there was an enormous mess of a white powdery dust all over the kitchen floor.
It started in the pantry and trailed across the kitchen.
The trash cans were covered it in.
The laundry room had also been nailed.
It’s where we keep the cleaning supplies, and the broom and dustpan were covered in it too.
My first thought was drugs.
My head said flour.
But my heart was hoping that Lennie Briscoe would come knocking on my door.
I had two suspects.
The first Grown Son is a slob and would never clean up his own mess.
Since an attempt was made to sweep, he was eliminated as a suspect.
The second Grown Son occasionally makes a slight effort to clean up.
He got the blame.
But he vehemently denied it.
The first Grown Son was confronted.
He burst out laughing and confessed that he had knocked over the flour during a midnight snack.
I informed him that flour can’t be cleaned with a broom.
It just flies around and makes an even bigger mess.
This situation calls for the shop vac.
We’ve got our own Breaking Bad crime drama right here at home.
Or maybe not.