Things are looking up

Things Are Looking Up
By Laura McHale Holland

She's had one of those weeks, like the smell of burned hair everywhere or the sight of a dead raccoon at the side of the road. She wants to scream at the dish pan, dance naked in the back yard. But the doorbell rings. It's Carl, standing barefoot on the welcome mat, but wearing a black business suit. She hasn't seen him for three years, not since he broke up with her while they were arguing over how to stack towels in the linen closet.

"Carl, what are you doing here?”

"Let me in, and I'll tell you, doll." He winks.

She backs away from the door, making room for him to enter. He steps inside. Looks around like he still owns the place. She grabs an umbrella from a stand by the coat closet and whacks him on the head.

Bewildered, he asks, "Why did you do that?”

She just smiles and shrugs.

"You crazy bitch. I shoulda never come back here." He stomps out the door, slamming it behind him.

"Actually, I'm kinda glad you did," she yells after him. "Things are looking up. Things are definitely looking up," she says, stroking the umbrella before putting it back in its stand.