It’s 7:20am. That’s five minutes before the bus leaves. There’s one thing on my mind and one thing only. Orange juice.
My mission is to pour orange juice because I want it and it’s my life, dammit. Don’t judge me, I like orange juice.
I swiftly open the fridge with my right hand, extending my fingers to reach the handle first time. The fridge opens immediately and the orange juice sits on its square base. My left hand goes to grab the orange juice before I put it on my black granite kitchen unit. The orange juice is now out of the cold Icelandic-like fridge and on the worktop.
My right hand, once again responsible for opening something, pulls back the cupboard. It opens and in front of me is a glistening glass. My left hand has the task of grabbing said glass and it completes the objective with ease. I unscrew the white bumpy lid and pour the orange juice.
The clock is ticking.
"Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock."
I take a brief nerve-wracking peer at my watch and it reads ‘7:24am’ which means I have 1 minute before I leave.
The orange juice continues pouring into the transparent glass before some spills on the table, wasting precious time and making my day, and even more importantly my life, awful.
The words “HOLY SHIT!” come out of my terrified mouth.
My right hand rapidly grabs the yellow rag sitting by the kitchen sink and does one fast motion to clean up the mess, but without thinking, my dick of a left hand gets in the way. The glass falls over, forcing the almost-yellow-but-not-quite-yellow juice flying over the worktop.
"Fuck."
