“Another Golgotha”
Holding my breath, suffocated by the burning odor of bleach, I took up my sponge against the scarred and yellow linoleum of my first apartment’s kitchen floor. The war raged long. Arms weary, knees bruised, I scrubbed like my life depended on it. And when I rinsed the host of suds at the end of a long afternoon…the floor did not look any cleaner. I obsessed over that kitchen floor for the whole first year of my marriage. I took it as a black mark against my identity as a homemaker…
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