I blame my bad temper for getting me into this predicament. But if you were in my place, wouldn't you have a tantrum, too?
I suspected my boyfriend of sleeping around, so one night I followed him home. And he wasn't alone. After the longest 10 minutes of my life, I rang the doorbell. "Pizza delivery!"
He flung open the door, dressed only in his boxer shorts, a half-naked woman holding onto his arm. "I didn't order any--"
I slapped his face. Then I marched home, took off a shoe, and threw it.
The shoe cracked my floor mirror.
Now, I'm a modern woman who doesn't believe in any silly superstitions. So, I did what any modern woman would do under the circumstances. I tossed down several rum and Cokes, and crawled into bed.
The next morning, my eyes half-closed from a zinger of a headache, I checked the mirror. It was indeed cracked, five large shards clinging to the mirror back. Five versions of me staring back at me.
My cell phone beeped. "Crap, I'm going to be late for work!"
"I'm on it," one me said. Before my jaw could drop, she disappeared from the mirror shard. A moment later, the shower started. Ten minutes later, she returned to the shard, clean, dressed, and carrying my briefcase. "See you after work!" She waved goodbye. The other four of me waved back. The front door squeaked open, and then slammed shut.
"When are you going to oil that door?" one me asked.
"And when are you planning to clean up after yourself?" a second asked.
"You'd better start with the kitchen," a third said. "Those dirty dishes have been in the sink so long, they're cemented together. And your stove is so grimy, it's brown instead of white. While you're at it, take a look at the inside of your refrigerator. Whatever's growing in there is going to eat you while you're asleep if you don't get on the ball."
"I can't believe any of this is going on. I must be dreaming." I pinched myself. "Ouch!"
"Why the disbelief?" the fourth asked. "You talk to yourself all the time. The only difference is that now you can see who you're talking to."
I sighed loudly. "If you think this place is so nasty, clean it yourself. I have to get to work."
"You're already at work," they all said.
"And you're on time for once," one said.
"I don't believe you." I threw on some wrinkled sweats I picked up from the floor, stuffed my dirty hair underneath a skull cap, and laced up my hiking boots, while the four versions of me in the mirror giggled.
I ran to the coffee house where I stopped every morning before work.
"Hi, Mona," Joe, the barista, said. "Back so soon?"
"You were here a couple of minutes ago, remember? In a business suit." He looked me up and down. "But now.... Are you ok?"
"Whatever. Pour me another one, Joe."
People in the crowded shop stepped back to let me by, some holding their noses. I forgot I hadn't washed those sweats for probably months. Pretty rank. Oh well.
I walked to work and looked in the front window. There I was, a cup of coffee on my desk and the phone to my ear. That me turned and saw me. She waved me away just before the boss walked over to my desk.
I had to jump over the vacuum cleaner when I walked in the door of my apartment. "This place should be condemned," the vacuum-cleaning me muttered.