REDHANDED LOSER, IN WHICH ETERNITY IS TWO MINUTES, GIVE OR TAKE A BILLION.

I love to read, and I also have children, 
and those two things are not always ultra-compatible,
in a simultaneous sense.

Fortunately, I have been proud, up until today, of my innovative solution,
which is basically to simultaneously work my way through a 
combination of 6-8 books and magazines strategically placed throughout 
the house so that at any given point, I am within twenty feet or so from something to read,
whenever there are moments to be stolen,
or borrowed.

I know, multitasking at its worst. But I am also a rather fast reader and synthesize large amounts of information rapidly, so it's a solution that lets me
rip through content quickly. Malcolm Gladwell for two minutes here, ninety seconds of Wired there, four minutes of Speaker for the Dead, skim through a page of Sophie's World...

...I'd like to think my time estimates are accurate. However...
my theory and solution got shredded earlier:

BATHROOM SINK.
Washing my hands,
where I had a copy of a Neil Gaiman / Al Sarrantonio anthology* 
splayed open a foot away.
Scrubbing and QUICKLY soaking in the 
relentless verb-laden prose of Chuck Palahniuk for a few seconds,

while I quickly washed my hands
for somewhere between two and twenty minutes,

and then
my little girl,
my exasperating spy,
my accountability partner for truth and accuracy in measurements and time-keeping,

burst in,
burst in,
hurtled in,

and,
eyes widening in shock; melodramatic horror,
arms spread up and wide in universal frustration language,

& shrieked:

"Daddy!
is a BOOK REALLY 
more important than 
YOUR CHILDREN?!?! 

You are taking SO LONG!"

I hung my head,
shame a little,
but mostly disappointment
at being caught
and called out.

Masterful. 

Just masterful,
our protege,
evolving spymaster and life coach.

Tonight, I guess I will try to finish.
Shouldn't take more than three or four more minutes.

I am tired of being outwitted by children.
It's my turn to win.
Probably tomorrow,
or a tomorrow in a future decade.

Goodnight, Mr. Palahniuk, and Messieurs Gaiman and Sarrantonio, and 
children.

Sleep well, and long,
childless writers.

____

*Stories (2011)