Where's Debbie?

Standing in the dim and dusty cellar, wearing my blue flannel pajamas and matching slippers. I stared desperately at the shelf, willing my mind to work. I took another sip of my white wine. It was a nice bottle—not too sweet, with a floral note.

Debbie, you stupid old bat.

I could hear them upstairs in the kitchen. I imagined them filling their bowls with stew from the crockpot. Lucky, I happened to make that for my own dinner.

I’d been gone too long. Think, Debbie, think. What did you say you needed?

I listened to them chatter and move about upstairs.

The whole point of the dinner was for them to come check on me and make sure I’m still getting by. Of course, I had completely forgotten. They show up and I’m in pajamas, wine glass in hand.

Just barely talked my way out of that one… Think, Debbie, think.

This isn’t going to work. I should go up there right now and confess. I forgot about dinner. I forgot they were coming. I forgot to get dressed. I came down here, and now I’ve forgotten what for. They will be right to send me away. My time has come.

“Where’s Debbie?” I heard Ashley say upstairs.

I’m done for.

“Do you think she needs help carrying the tea set?” she asked.

THE TEA SET!

I was staring right at it. I’d lucked out. Another month of independence! Another month of freedom!

I emerged triumphantly from the cellar. Everyone looked happy to see me. Then my right elbow clipped the edge of the cellar door. I overcorrected. The tea set leaned wildly. Wine spilled onto the tray. I recovered. The glass didn’t fall.

“Are you alright?” Ashley cried out.

“Oh relax, honey,” I said. “I’m not that fragile.”