My sister's kitchen

 My sister's kitchen is her fiefdom. It is her kingdom and fiercely guarded territory . 

With age , her defences have proliferated and become rigid as hell. Earlier you could sneak a peek, lend a hand , cook something ( for which you might be grudgingly thanked) , or even fetch a glass of water without the threat of being chided. No longer. Now , you might as well levitate on entering the hallowed premises . 

You are not permitted to leave footprints on the shiny floor, no handprints on the glass door partition,  no splotches of water in and around the sink , and heaven forbid, no soap residues in hastily washed pots .

Like a hardened criminal, you learn to wipe surfaces down , mop the floor , dry the dishes , then dry the kitchen duster , and pray that you have not left a single evidence of a sneaky omelette , which you had the audacity to make .

Like a sniffing bloodhound, she knows, just by looking at nano particles of crumbs , which snacks box has been raided in her absence . Then ,it is " off with her / his head " time .

An incriminating trail of these nanoparticles also reveal , magically , to her astute senses , where the purported crime of consuming the stolen goods took place . On the balcony ( hastily) , on the sofa , in the sitting room ( God save you) or in the kitchen itself ( no imagination) . 

Her hawk eye and extraordinary nasal glands reveal to her all the information which should have , by all means,remained concealed.

Not only is her kitchen off limits , to hungry humans prone to snacking , it is a formidable citadel for the maid too . This, allegedly, is her workplace . She has all my sympathies , as my sister corners her everyday and points out her innumerable flaws in yesterday's washing .

The  negligent soap spots , the faulty piling of the dishes , the inadequate washing of the scrubber , the criminal scuffing of the floor , the wasteful running of water , the aberrant water scales left unscrubbed in some hard to reach corner of the sink ,the glaring omission of spoons stacked erringly , so on and so forth . 

Everyday , when she enters her fortress , I pretend to bury myself in the day's wordle and spellathon, keeping one eye and ear cocked for a yell and a reprimand .

 For courageous and suicidal souls like me , who keep trying to breach the outer walls and slay the dragon everyday , so to speak.

A few jabs of the javelin and a few tongues of searing flames are only too expected .