Soapy-Hand Premonition

My roommate was working on a news story tonight and had to call in a correction to the Missourian’s office before the story went to print. Meanwhile, I was doing dishes, and I couldn’t help but think that I will be doing something very similar to that next semester.

As I was washing out my coffee mug, I caught a glance at myself in the mirror, wearing my blue plaid button-up, hair in a sloppy knot and hands covered in blue-dyed soap (I buy cheap washrags that ALWAYS bleed). It occurred to me that the 19-year-old girl in the mirror with smudged mascara and wisps of hair jutting out in all angles will one day be walking the newsroom of some magazine.

I’m not saying I saw myself sitting in a corner office on the top floor of the Conde Nast building, but I did realize that in a few years, I’ll go from scrubbing dried chai tea out of a Beatles coffee mug to walking through a magazine office, head filled with grammar rules and ideas for the next issue. My hands went from soapy and turquoise to holding the mock-up binder of the month’s publication.

Ah, the beauty of washing dishes at 11 p.m.


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