It’s March. It’s been a year since the washing machine leaked like this. Coincidentally, or not, both times the leak occurred during a COVID-19 lockdown. This time however, we humans of the house, tore off the duct tape and replaced the hose.
Around this same time I have my own regular check-up, a mammogram appointment. I’m on the two-year cycle now. I have the reminder. I get it, I’m in that age category. Someone’s checking in on me, but am I listening to my own body? And what is it saying?
Hello, any body there?
In moments of absurdity or pure investigation, the leaky washing machine hose becomes internal communication device, “hello, hello” — there is a body there?
Red: like a hot line, Tardis, the British red public telephone box, an artery, a line and hook, connection, blood flow.
