Posted by: DIYwriting | October 20, 2021

Sticky

“Place sticky things here?  What does that even mean?  Sounds pretty disgusting to me actually,” I said as I carefully walked around the table and put my hands in my pockets.  I didn’t want to accidently touch the table and whatever stickiness has been on top of it.  I made a quick look at the floor to see if there were any stains on the carpet. 

Marcia sat down at the table like there was no problem.  I watched as she set her purse onto the sticky table and lean back in her chair.  Apparently the thought of random stickiness didn’t bother her at all.  Maybe because she had five younger siblings whereas I only had a much older sister.  I didn’t mind messy, but dirty was an entirely different matter. 

As Marcia made herself comfortable, I began to take a closer look around the hotel lobby.  Why would the lobby need to have a designated space for sticky objects?  What else was hiding in corners?  What was our bathroom going to look like? 

My hands began to tremble as I thought about our room.  As the kids clattered in the front door with their popsicles, things began to look a little more normal.  At least I hoped.  If I could turn my attention back to the kids, I could pretend like the hotel was as clean as I wanted and hoped it would be.  Though if there was one stray hair anywhere, I knew I would lose my mind. 


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