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We all make mistakes.  Forgiving ourselves is the first step to healing.  Not allowing ourselves to think about our mistakes is denial.  Please enjoy Part 3 of My Day.    




JANIE WATCHED HER HUSBAND, Paul, from their upstairs window.   It had taken him forever to leave the house.  She told him she had a busy day.  He should have left a few minutes after their kids got on the bus.  Not twenty minutes later.


Paul backed his eleven-year-old Volvo sedan out of their driveway into the street.  She wondered why he stopped in the middle of the street.  He had better not be fidgeting with his cell phone.  Signs with a picture of a cellphone with an X through the cellphone were on poles throughout the neighborhood.  Not to mention that it was illegal for him to hold a cellphone while driving.  Get caught and the ticket was five hundred dollars.  Paying out more money was exactly what they needed.  She crossed her arms.


Move your butt out of the street, she thought.  A blind curve in the street was behind him.  If a car came around that curve, it would rear-end him.  He would be at fault.  “Don’t be an idiot, Paul!” she yelled as if he could hear her.  “Get out of the damn street!”  As if he heard her, Paul’s Volvo drove off.  “Unbelievable.”  She watched the Volvo until it was out of sight.


Janie rushed downstairs and cleaned up.  Dishes were put in the dishwasher.  Food was wiped off the counters.  Trash was put in the trash can.  Chairs were pushed in under the table.  She did a quick sweep of the kitchen floor.  Clorox wipes were used on the floor where there were drink and food stains.


Janie stood in the kitchen doorway and looked it over.  Everything was where it should be.  Less for her to do later.  She rushed upstairs.


She removed her robe while walking and tossed it on the bed.  Her night shorts and tank top that she had slept in were dropped in the hamper.  She did one thing after the other.  Never slowing down.  It was all systematic.


In the bathroom, she reached into the shower and turned on the water.  She loved her new bathroom.  It was only two years old.  It was much bigger than the old one.  New glass shower, white floor tiles, white sinks, marble countertop.  The contractor took a small part of their master bedroom and made it part of the bathroom.  Janie and Paul had doubted he could do what he told them he could do with the extra space.  They were surprised and pleased when he did it.


Janie stepped into the shower.  The water spraying on her was as hot as she could stand.  She scrubbed her body with a coarse body sponge.  The sponge was to exfoliate and deep clean.  Her skin was always red and raw when she finished.  But the redness lasted twenty minutes.  It was worth it.  Her skin felt really clean.  She turned off the shower and opened the door.  Steam poured out of the shower.


She quickly dried off with a giant fluffy towel.  With her back to the mirror, she looked over her shoulder at her butt.  She grabbed her butt cheeks and squeezed them.  Too much, she thought.  Her body was twenty pounds heavier than she liked.  But she could live with it.  It did not seem to affect how she lived.  Yet it still bothered her.  More than it should.  Today, however, not so much.


She went into her closet and knelt down in front of one of her dressers.  She pulled out the drawer above the last drawer.  She put both hands under the bottom of the drawer and felt two small handles.  With her fingertips on the handles, she slid a hidden drawer out from under the bottom of the drawer.


The secret drawer was three inches deep.  Inside was a black dress and a diamond necklace with matching earrings and bracelet.  The jewelry was a bit over one-hundred thousand dollars.


Janie checked her watch and dressed quickly.  Her family had put her ten minutes behind.  She put on a pair of black velvet heels to finish off the outfit.  She looked in the full-length mirror.  She studied herself from different angles.  Satisfied, or settling on good enough, she grabbed her full-length overcoat and headed downstairs.


She went down the hall through the door that led to the garage.  Her ten-year-old Honda minivan was the only car inside it.  She got in and started the engine and looked into the rearview mirror.  She paused and questioned who the woman was who was looking back at her.  It looked like her.  An earlier version of her anyway.  But she had changed more than anyone knew.


When the garage door was high enough, she drove out into the street.  Her speedometer was above forty miles per hour before she knew it.  Twenty-five miles was the max.  Police officers enjoyed giving tickets in her neighborhood.  Not that it was bad.  She just did not need one.


The worst that could happen was if a neighbor saw her pulled over and dressed like she was.  Good luck with explaining that.  Who wears one hundred thousand dollars of jewelry to work?  The questions Paul would ask?  The rumors that would come?  She exhaled at the thought.


She slowed down and watched her speedometer.


I hope you enjoyed PART 2 of the story.  Drop me a line and let me know what you think.  See you next time.


Thank you,

Stephen Wallace