I look down at my bowl and realize that all of my sugary breakfast is just a bowl of colorful milk. Quickly ignoring the footwear on screen, I bounce up off of the couch and head into the kitchen, one of my many lairs during the day. The mahogany cabinets jet out of the wall, each one acting like a new doorway to a different dimension. The dishes in the drying racks patiently await me to carefully place them back in their designated areas.
I chug down the milk in my bowl and casually drop it in the shining, silver sink, “I’ll get to it later.” I tug down at the collar of my pajama top and look inside, getting a glimpse of the list I wrote for myself. Circled with blue ink, the very first thing on my list is “Put away dish stuff.” I glance up at the stack of dishes still awaiting to be put away like convicts waiting for death row.
I shrug and walk back into the living room, quickly moving on from one thing to the next, “Screw it, I’ll do it later. What’s next?”My trusty boob note has the answer. I look down my shirt again and read the next thing on the list and groan when I read, “Sweeping the living room? Damn, that means that I’ll have to move everything around… Do I really have to?”
I normally sweep around the house every other day. When I was in my last year of high school my mom would give me advice about how to keep my lover happy regardless of who is was. The three easiest ways are their stomach, the bedroom, and the house. I was a bit skeptical about my mom talking about the bedroom part, but thinking about it made me realize why dad always left for work in a happy mood. I wonder if I should start doing the same thing for Alexis before she leaves?
I start thinking about how stressed she can be sometimes when she wakes up. I know it sucks having to go to a desk job day after day, especially when it deals with a lot of numbers and billing. I could always do something to her while she’s still sleeping since I already get up before her to prepare her clothes and breakfast. Give her a few kisses across her boobs in her sleep.
With a flood of perverted thoughts hitting me at once, I could feel my cheeks flaming and a chain of mischievous giggles slipping out, “She’s a heavy sleeper, so I can probably get away with a lot more than that. I should test it out some time this week.”
After letting myself get lost in a sea of dirty thoughts, I shake them off and remember what I’m suppose to be doing right now: sweeping. With that in mind, I start moving around furniture that I can move on my own, mostly the coffee table and the single seat recliner. As for the love sofa, I have to push each side individually until it’s placed against the wall that separates the main hallway and the living room. With the living room clear, I rush into the kitchen closet and pull out the broom and dustpan.
“Up next, we have a couple who’s always fighting about who cheated first.”
My eat twitches when I catch the show host for the reading off the description for the next couple appearing on stage. I drop everything in my hands and dash back to the living room, diving and laying on the floor with my eyes glued to the television, I’ll sweep when this episode goes off. I don’t want to miss when somebody starts getting a fist in their face.
* * * * *
I feel like I’m forgetting something… but I have no idea what it could be. I have everything that I need to do this, right?
I look over all of the things I have on me: a half empty bucket with a flood of soapy suds at the top, my frilly white apron tied around my waist to protect me from any splashing, and my trusty bristle brush broom heads tied to the bottom of my feet. I put the bucket down to make sure I don’t pour it out too early; I still need to see if the floors are clear and free of anything that could make me fall.