Toni Licciardi

The Misery of Safety

Harriet woke up on Thursday morning at 6:15, just like she did every single morning of every single week of every single year. She used the bathroom, put on her robe and slippers and headed out to her kitchen. She popped the little pod into her coffee maker, made her daily cup of coffee, added exactly two tablespoons of light cream and sat down to drink it while skimming her email. She allowed herself exactly twenty minutes every day, then headed to the bathroom where she flossed and brushed her teeth before hopping into a very hot shower. She always started by washing her hair and applying conditioner, which she left on while she washed her face, rinsing it out before proceeding to wash the rest of her body and shave her legs and armpits. This regimen took exactly seven minutes. She squeegeed the shower door and grabbed a towel, wrapping herself tightly before stepping back into her bedroom. As always, her clothes had been carefully laid out the night before, and after applying body lotion and allowing it to dry, she stepped into her outfit of the day. She sat down on the foot of the bed to put her shoes on, and suddenly began to cry. She was inexplicably overcome with sadness at the fact that her life had become so horribly, boringly routine. Ever since her mother had disappeared when she was twelve, she had become more and more bound by habit and predictability.