Time Is What You Make It

You have twenty friends, each of them will knock on your door today. If you let each one in and had a cup of tea, there would be no time for anything else; no cleaning, no meals, no work, no free time. Your house would be a mess, you would have no money, you would be tired and while you wouldn’t be thirsty, you would be hungry.

Out of the twenty people knocking on your door, you decide time can be made for one person, and one person only. But out of the twenty friends, who do you choose?

Each person has a skill. One is a plumber, one is a librarian, one works at the post office, etc. By choosing one person over the other nineteen, the other nineteen will be each personally offended.

Yet choose one person you do, and each day that person knocks on the door, and each day you both have a cup of tea. Your house is clean, time for work means you have money, you eat three meals every day, and have time for your hobbies.

When you call the plumber, they have other work at the moment and will be there Friday sometime, maybe Monday. When you call the library, the librarian has just stepped out and you’re not sure when they’ll be back. When you visit the post office, asking if your parcel has arrived, it’s not in yet and they don’t know when it might be there.

One day your friend knocks a second time...a third time...a fourth time...until the person is knocking on your door twenty times a day, each time having a cup of tea. Your house becomes inevitably messy, there is no money, you are hungry and tired and drowning in tea. Only now you have no running water, nothing to read, and you never receive the mail.

Standing at the door, you find your hand is on the doorknob. You realize you haven’t opened the door for anyone yet. That day twenty people knock on your door. Each time you thank the person, politely advising everyone there is no tea. At the end of the day, you are sitting at the table drinking your tea; on the table before you is dinner, a washcloth, a coin purse, a pillow, a paintbrush, and a piece of chocolate cake.

***

The dessert smells delightful, like buttery cocoa with not too much sweetness. You raise your fork.

“Hey,” the perky piece of cake exclaims, “how have you been?” It’s quite bouncy and emphatic.

You stare at the cake. It’s still and normal. You’re tired and need sleep. With the fork, you nudge the cake.

“Wait! No, no!” the cake protests, using its nose to push away the four-pronged weapon. “First, you have laundry to do, then you can eat me silly.” It smiles playfully.

It wasn’t wrong. There was always so much more work to be done. You get up from the table and wash the laundry. After completing the mundane chore, you return to the table.

The cake looks ordinary and delicious. “Well, no, you can’t eat me now,” it makes an over-emphasized sigh. If a piece of cake could shake its head, it did; it managed by wobbling side-to-side, its pointy nose up in the air like a happy puppy. “When did you last write to your pen pal, huh?” It pouts.

Indeed, it had been a long time. Feeling guilty, you pen a hand-written letter and mail it. When you return to the table, the piece of cake is intensely examining the tea on the table, effectively ignoring you—until you showfully pick up the fork.

“Oh!” the cake exclaimed in shock. “We forgot all about the library book, didn’t we? You should get that last chapter read and return it today, before there’s a late fee!”

The cake is so chipper, bouncy, fluffy, and animated you can’t help think, who’s a good pupper!

As if it can see your sarcasm, the cake replies, “Don’t be condescending.” Its chocolate brown eyes were wide. “I’m trying to help,” it fibbed innocently.

You push the decidedly cute and annoying cake piece aside, as it protests. You get up, cut a new piece of cake, return to the table, and start eating your cake before this too becomes sentient.

The first piece twitters on, watching as you smile and eat your delicious cake.