If I were to make a wish, it would be that I would never have to wash anything with a bottle brush again. No, rather, I would wish for a water bottle that would perpetually be clean. God, I HATE washing my water bottles out.
How much soap do I put on this brush? And how do I make it lather? Plastic, metal, no matter what kind of bottle I am cleaning, it is always clumsy.
The fingers of my left hand encircling as much of the bottle's diameter as possible, the palm of that same hand attempting to stabilize against the enamel of my sink, I begin the bottle brush's approach. Guiding the it through the neck of the vessel, I press the brush up against the bottom walls of the the bottle and commence.
Pumping my right arm up and down as if churning butter: my bicep, tricep, shoulder prepare to work in tandem to keep a steady, powerful brushing rhythm.
Up and down, up and down.
But without any buttermilk, without any resistance, my arm pulls the brush up and out of the bottle completely with force and haste. The bristles scrape against the bottle's lip and lightly drizzle soap suds upon my kitchen counter.
The experience is not unlike sticking your foot out for a stair step and seriously miscalculating the distance to the next tread.
Eventually we find a compromise, a brute force back-and-forth between the angle of the brush, the angle of the bottle, the force my palm puts on the brush, the speed at which I move the brush, and the rest: all intuited physics I can share no knowledge about.
I'm supposed to do this daily? No thanks, I'll just starve(dehydrate).
what what
what what is a prompt for you, dear reader, that I ask you to indulge me in. let me waste a little of your time.
what are you wishing for?
what was your last wish? what is something that you have promised the universe in exchange for something wished for? what objects hold wish granting powers (e.g. stars, birthday candles, plant mutations, particular car models, constructions of stone, etc)?