State of Bliss

I just washed my dishes in my own kitchen, in my own sink, in water so hot that the outer layer of skin on my fingertips is sure to peel off (I was always going to be a thief, because as a child I never had reliable fingerprints- my hands shed like a snake in this arid climate and I was always in the water). The hot water came from my faucet, without me having to launch a clandestine operation around the back of the house and down into the cellar. I haven't enjoyed housework this much since I was ten years old, when Grandma would ask me to do the dishes (on Topaz Street) and I would pretend I was Cinderella. Now I have to go to orchestra with prune-wrinkled fingers and a really sparkly ring. Some nameless plumber is my hero.