A Housewife
After a whole day of sweeping, cleaning and dusting, she settled down on a the leather sofa, with a cup of coffee in her hands. She had her hair tied in a ponytail, while dressed in a plain shirt and shorts. While the leather sofa was shining and speckless, she was covered in dust, dirt and sweat, as her shirt sticked to her sweaty figure, looking out of place, compared to the dustless-looking living room. As she laid down her coffee, she glanced at her old hands. They resembled earthy-paper, wrinkled at the corners, yet blisters formed at her fingers, the result of mopping the five-hundred square-metres bungalow, while also causing a backache as well. The fatigue was overwhelming, but her joy and desire to see her husband kept her awake as she sipped her coffee while glancing at the mahogany grandfather clock. She glanced at the clock, not because she was impatient, but she was cheering herself with the fact that every second that passed brought her closer to her husband. Just as she was about to take another sip, she heard footsteps. That alone was enough to set her rushing to the door, awaiting the moment to greet her man...
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