When Fannie arrived home, she saw that Nate was no longer on the couch, so she went from room to room, calling his name, and it wasn’t until she reached the kitchen that she found him. He was wearing an apron around his waist, holding a rag in one hand, and a mop in another hand. Fannie looked at him and she was confused. "What are you doing?" she wondered. “I better not have come home for nothing!”
“What do you think I’m doing?” Nate hissed. “This house is a mess, and the mess is all yours. There are make-up and bottles all over the place!”
Fanny picked up a bottle and laughed in his face. “This isn’t garbage,” she said, “It is a beautiful art. Postmodern. You wouldn’t understand.”
“Don’t make a joke about this!” Nate snapped. “This is not funny. Some of your cosmetics contain lead, w
