found the mixer sitting on my porch.
She hadn’t knocked.
She hadn’t handed it back to me.
She had simply abandoned it beside the welcome mat where anyone passing by could have taken it.
The second I picked it up, I knew something was wrong.
Dried cream had hardened inside the seam where the mixer head connected to the body.
Yellow.
Sticky.
Several days old.
Something sugary had dried along the power cord.
The whisk attachment was sitting inside the bowl covered with hardened frosting.
She hadn’t even rinsed it.
