Mrs. Harper's Sink

MRS. HARPER'S SINK

    Mrs. Harper’s arthritic fingers pull back the lacy curtains, and she peeks at the plumber’s van parked on her gravel driveway.

  “Mrs. Harper, I found your problem.” The pudgy repairman waddles out of the kitchen toward the window, his tool belt clanking with each step. “The pipe under your sink is clogged. It’s a simple clog–– I’ll have it cleared in a few minutes.”

  Mrs. Harper brushes a mound of matted gray hair from her face. Her turbulent ocean-blue eyes follow the repairman to the kitchen. “He’s the perfect man for Sweet Pea,” she mumbles.

  The repairman begins to unclog the sink, his wrench banging against the copper pipes. “Mrs. Harper, come quick! Mrs. Harper! MRS. HARPER!”

  Mrs. Harper strolls into the kitchen and stares at the tan boa constrictor with sleek chocolate-brown rings coiled around the repairman’s lifeless body. “Sweet Pea, you can release your dinner now. I need to get the keys to the van from his pocket and move it to the barn with all the other ones.”