fencing tender_square “ma, do you have a mr. clean magic eraser?” i had scuffed my white booties and rubbing at them with a wet paper towel wasn’t doing anything to buff it out. “i don’t think so, let me check.” she crouched and looked beneath the kitchen sink but came up empty handed. brea called, “i know where some are.” she grabbed one of the stools and climbed it to reach an upper shelf beside the fridge. “there’s nothing up there, brea,” mom insisted. from where i sat it seemed unlikely they’d be there either, the shelves were filled with half-burned candles. all day mom long was complaining about how much shit her and dad had in the house that they needed to do away with; every space was packed and she wanted to pass some of it on to me. “i found it!” brea threw me the box at the island. it was so light i was sure there was nothing in it, but lo and behold, there was one mr. clean magic eraser left. “sweeet!” i scrubbed the boots for a time and the large black scuffs lifted without damaging the faux leather. “look what else i found!” brea presented a box of decorative plastic toothpicks, handed me one. “en garde!” we tried holding the mini skewers in our hands and battling with them while dad looked on. they were so stubby it was hard to make contact with the blades. we ended up scratching one another’s hands with the tips like cat claws as we bobbed back and forth, scuffing our dry winter skin like my delicate white boots with cuts we couldn’t buff out. 211126 what's it to you? who go blather from