Then the next day, her own mother had said, "Don't you think you should move the sack out of the den?" "I will," she had said, in no way motivated to lift a finger.
For two days the sack didn't move. For two days her own mother was gone on a trip. For two nights she lay spaced and content on the couch, every once in a while looking over at the sack in the middle of the room. She might have moved it out of the den and into her own green room. But she just didn't want to. Something kept her from lifting a hand. The couch? The smog outside? Until Daughter came back next week the sack with Hairdo in it would be a permanent fixture on the rug.
But on the third day Someone was coming for lunch. And, in a flurry of cleaning up for the Guest, she gave in and moved the sack with the brown relative into her own room and set it down on the floor in a whole group of other sacks which were her own and her daughter's.
"There," she said. "Join the crowd."
#culture
