Day 278 - Sticky

 STICKY

Prompt - Sticky : Imagine a situation that's very sticky, maybe even covered in maple syrup, tape or glue.  Write about it!

She was my best friend.  Pals since prams.  But since Mel had had the twins our relationship wasn't what it had been.  No surprise, but still a disappointment.  She was a natural mother and I... certainly wasn't.  Which Mel had always been well aware of, but wiped from her mind by the perfection of her children, whose actions she expected everyone to admire as much as she did.  For the sake of our friendship I did my best to go along with it.  But much wine, more and more it seemed, was needed after each visit to her chaotic home.

Last Friday was a full bottle job.  I'd left work early, got a bus out to Garstons and Mel's semi.  Her welcome was enthusiastic enough, but last less than thirty seconds before the twins intervened.  Attention, attention, always wanting attention.  I followed Mel into the kitchen where jam sandwiches were being prepared.  An expression that means one thing when it involves an adult, and something else altogether when wee kids are involved.  In the adult version the majority of the jam ends up on the bread, as it should be.  In the alternative universe it is spread more widely, over people, surfaces, clothes, dogs, anything that comes within range.  And sometimes bread too.

"Oh, grab Georgie, will you?"  Mel, struggling to keep Helen in some sort of order, barked pleadingly for me to retrieve the girl's escaping brother.  So I did.  I was her friend.  I did so warily, reluctantly, fearfully, but I did it.  In the face of determined lack of cooperation from the fleeing boy.  But what's the odd scratch and kick between friends.  And their brats.  The worst bit was the jam.  Hands, face, tee shirt were strawberry sticky.  Within seconds so was I.  But I got him back in his place and relative sanity resumed.

It was only when I got a chance to clean myself up that I noticed I'd lost an earring.  Which was upsetting, because I'd inherited them from my gran.  By then Tom was home too, so while he held the kids at bay Mel helped me search for it.  We looked on the table, work surfaces, floors, anywhere I'd been.  But no earring.  In the end I had to call the search off and get myself home, quietly simmering at the non-angelic Georgie, who I was certain was to blame for my loss.  The wine went down well.

I was turning off lights when I saw it.  Stuck to the back of the sofa, there was my grandmother's earring.  What the...?  It came away stickily.  From the spot where I'd been sitting.  I felt round the back of my top.  More stickiness.  The earring had got stuck to my back, courtesy of strawberry conserve.  I now had a jammy top, a jammy sofa, but at least I had gran's jewellery still.  All the same - little bugger!