We are currently in the process of renovating our kitchen, so when this weeks challenge asked us to incorporate a kitchen into a story about prisons I couldn’t help but wonder what might happen. Somehow that resulted in two flash fictions this week, so please enjoy this bonus story!
It takes a moment for the reality of the situation to dawn on me. The initial panic is followed by a slow realization of what has happened. I knew she’d taken it personally.
My mind wanders back to that fateful day a month ago. My wife had insisted we needed the help of a professional. Since when is designing a kitchen so hard to do? Sink? Check. Fridge? Check. Cooker? Yep. Job done. No need for fancy 3D diagrams or intricate plans, just draw it all out on a napkin and you’re good to go. I’d brought my ‘designs’ to the meeting, but the so called expert quickly dismissed them. Some nonsense about building regulations and a magical kitchen triangle. I insisted and eventually she begrudgingly used my layout. Then we spent far too long trying to figure out what colour defined us as a couple. Utter codswallop.
Anyway, I might have subtly suggested that any idiot could do her job. She seemed to take it all rather well, or so I thought, until I found myself standing in our brand new kitchen. I never noticed her fancy plan didn’t include any door handles on the inside. I guess I didn’t draw those on my napkin!