Mutiny, I Say!

Upon arriving at home to find my living room empty and a note on the floor, I sat down to read:

Dear Carole:

Lately, we have become increasingly concerned that you are not holding up your end of the bargain. We all have jobs to do and responsibilities to meet. Most of us are able to balance those things. You, however, have shown us that you are not.

Huh?

You may notice that all the furnishings in this room are now gone.

I might be slow, but give me some credit.

That is the consequence for your actions. Rather, your lack of action. We’ll not beat around the bush. It’s not us; it’s you.

Well, that figures.

When each of us came to you, there was a deal. A promise. An expectation. As far as any of us has been able to tell, we work for you. However, you do not return the favor.

When was the last time you ran the vacuum? When was the last time you dusted?

After a quick glance around the room, I picked up a piece of a shredded rubber dog toy, hid it under my leg and then stole another peek over my shoulder. I continued reading.

The leather on the chair has begun to wither. There is dog hair under the sofa.

Well, not anymore.

There is really no need for us to continue describing the conditions we have been forced to live in. Therefore, it is with deep regret that we tell you we have relocated. If you mend your ways, you can find us at your sister’s house. If you do not, you should know that we have overheard your bed discussing this very topic with your night stands.

Regards,

Piano, Coffee Table, et al

Maybe I ought to go make the bed.