1. Spiders
2. Job loss
3. Fat (Where did that bulge come from?)
4. Cancer (Why are my nipples itchy?)
5. Death. Mine and everyone else's.
Our house has three layers, like a taupe cake made of lapboard and clinker brick: The underground layer, the ground-level layer and the attic. Recently, Rose broke down for me, in her vivid teen-speak, the ruling class for each layer. The basement, she said, has been given over to the spiders. Only when I am thirsty and brave do I visit the basement, and only to grab a bottle of wine. I have never seen a spider in the basement, but I am aware of their presence. I know they stare at me with eight eyes. I know because I can see their webs, strewn like shrunken heads as warning signs.
The ground-level, Rose said, is ruled by me and my husband. We rule! We rule...the kitchen? The laundry room? The bathroom? What kind of reign is that? A reign of cleaning. Heavy sigh.
And the attic belongs to the children. This is why, she explained, patiently, that the attic does not have to be cleaned before she goes out.
