A Rude House

My husband asked, "Why are you looking forward to going to the cabin this weekend?" I answered with, "What?" You know, the kind of "what" that is loaded with all kinds of other sentences and grimaces and attitude. OK, so I'm not very proud of that "what." But that's the kind of "what" I said.

His question was sincere. He was making conversation. I was sitting on my overstuffed chair in the living room when he asked me. This offered a great vantage point for my next eloquent discourse. To my left was the little bar cabinet. On top of it was a filing case of magazines, a little pile of fabric, a box of embroidering threads, and a Valentines gift basket. I could swear that I saw that little mess frown at me. My eyes moved a foot over to the right to the kitchen table and there sat a small pile of puzzles that my Penelope had dumped on the floor days previous. They were joined by several other odds and ends. I could tell they were giving me a dirty look.

Unfortunately my eyes kept going to the right where they ungraciously landed on the queen of all messes! This area used to be a surface, but that has been long gone. Instead one can find an item of any given category just laying there, all scrambled up with each other screaming amongst themselves and at me anytime I walk by. A candle holder, a spool of thread, many many coupons that will most definitely never get used, pictures to be hung, a telephone, the hospital bracelet that Penelope wore as a newborn (I know, that's awful, it's meant to be in the adjacent pile for her scrapbook. I know, I know, who am I kidding?), a picture frame, postcards, note cards, things that I don't know how to describe, all of them living together for too long.

I wish I could stop there but my eyes kept making its way around the room while intermittently rolling for venting purposes. The armoire’s piles have a miraculous quality to them. It's like they think they're the modern day version of the five loaves and two fish. I'm always trying to show them why they're not, theologically speaking, but I think they are just delusional. Not to mention that everything in my house yells at me, "Dust us, already!!!" They start chanting this anytime I think I'm going to sit down for American Idol or anything that suggests, sitting. In fact, they even make up little songs about how dusty they are.

I told Christopher all of these things. He graciously listened, per usual. I said that I just want to go somewhere nice, not rude, like my house. Somewhere where I could go to any corner I wished to simply sit in it and not have it yell at me. We did. We had a great time.

The underlying message is this, I like to use this kind of technique, giving inanimate objects a "real" voice. I feel it portrays me as the victim and all the inanimate things as the villain. It works out very nicely, thank you.