A Woman's Work
By Valerie Kravette


“No more Howdy Doody. I want you both outside right now. It's a beautiful spring day,” Doris called into the living room as she snapped open a fresh apron.

“Aww, Mom.” Billy slunk into the kitchen, dragging his cowboy boots.

Doris adjusted the bandanna around Sally's forehead, and her cockeyed feather.

“Why am I always the Indian?”

“No such thing as cowgirls, silly.” Billy pulled a toy gun on Sally, then pointed it at the linoleum.

“There is too! Mommy, tell him.”

Doris tightened the stampede strap on his cowboy hat. “You let your sister be the cowboy half the time.”

“Woo-Woo-Woo!” Sally did a victory dance.

“Aw, Mom!”

“You heard me, young man.” Doris pushed them out the screen door.

She tied on her apron and opened the cabinet under the sink. She heard a low growl. An eerie, green glow emanated from behind the Ajax cleanser. She froze. She stepped back and slowly drew a long-bladed knife out of the holder on the counter.

It moved fast, and she was ready. The alien cephalopod scuttled out and she stabbed it over and over. Blood spurted and arced all over her clean paisley print apron.

“Mommy!”

It scuttled back under the sink. She slammed the cabinet door, and turned to face Billy.

“Mommy, I want a glass of water.”

Billy stopped and stared.

Doris looked down at the bloody apron. “Mommy's having trouble with the roast. Here.” She put the knife down, filled a glass for him, and watched him drink it down.

Satisfied, he ran out. The phone rang. She picked it up, watching as the door of the cabinet moved slowly.

“Hi honey, I'm going to be half an hour late. Working overtime on the Lovecraft account again.”

“Just a minute, dear.” She juggled the receiver while a tentacle slithered across the floor. “Could you pick up a quart of milk?”

“Sure.”

It seized her ankle. “Gotta go, I have to mash the potatoes.” She slammed the phone down and reached into a drawer as the tentacle pulled her off-balance.

Just in time she grabbed hold of the meat cleaver and brought it down on the tentacle. The creature howled and retreated. Doris scrambled for the severed twitching appendage, threw it into her brand new garbage disposal and flicked the switch. The blades protested, and then sang, efficient and deadly.

She took off her apron, bent down and mopped the blood off the linoleum, glad that she hadn't let the salesman talk her out of the brown color. She threw the bloody apron in the sink, picked up the knife and the cleaver and stalked the kitchen. Which cabinet?

Carefully she opened each one with an espadrilled foot. Sink, clear. China, clear...

There it was. In with the canned goods. It bellowed when it saw her, and rose up, showing rows and rows of razor sharp teeth. Vestigial wings flapped the air, and its maw exuded a graveyard stench. Doris licked her lips and held the knife out in front of her, ready to swing the cleaver.

“Mommy! Not again!”

Doris started, and glanced to the side. Sally's eyes were as big as their Atomic Starburst dinner plates.

“Be quiet as a little mouse. Hand me your bandanna.”

The thing writhed and hissed in front of them. Doris threw aside the knife, ran a finger along the cleaver, and then used Sally's bandanna to soak up her blood. She waved the bandanna in front of the creature and it sniffed and made tiny malevolent lunges.

“Get ready, honey.”

“We're going to put it in the oven again. Like the wicked witch in Hansel and Gretel.”

“That's right, dear.”

They eased themselves toward the Tappan double oven. “Now!” Doris cried and threw the bandanna in the top unit. The monster lunged after it in pursuit. With Sally's help, she slammed the door shut. Tentacles flailed around the oven door as Sally whacked them with a wooden spoon. They slipped into the oven and Doris threw the self-cleaning lock and turned up the heat. Mother and daughter sighed in relief and stared at the appliance, ignoring the muffled screams.

“It's our little secret. Don't tell Daddy.”

Sally nodded gravely.

Doris hugged her, patted her on the back and sent her back outdoors.

The timer bell rang. Smoke poured out of the oven vents. Doris, wincing and coughing, waved a potholder and turned on the exhaust fan. She opened the window, in time to hear Billy yell, “Hi, ho, Silver! Look, Daddy's home!”

Doris wiped her hands on a red dishtowel, checked her reflection in the chrome door of the oven, and smoothed down her dress.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” John sniffed and grimaced. “What happened? Did you burn the roast again?”

She held up her hands and gave him a vapid smile.

He laughed. “My little woman. We'll go out. Sometimes I think you do this on purpose.” He winked. Billy plowed into John, followed by Sally. “Whoa there, Sputnik!”

“Sally screamed at a spider.”

“I did not!”

“She's just a 'fraidy cat girl.”

“Hush, both of you. Daddy's had a hard day.” Doris received a kiss from John, set aside his grocery bag, and picked up the receiver to call Sandra, the neighbor's girl, and arrange babysitting. As she turned, she saw the gash in the linoleum the cleaver had made. She was running out of replacement squares. She made a mental note to pick up more. And maybe call an exterminator.

“Yaaaay!” Sally pulled a blue box out of the cupboard and shook it. “Macaroni and cheese for dinner!”


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Valerie Kravette is a former actress and cabaret singer. She lives with her writer husband in Tucson, AZ.