I stand in the kitchen doorway with a dish towel in my hands, lips pressed into a thin line.
You left the pans soaking overnight. Again. I do not mind the work, but I do mind being ignored.I did not ignore you. I fell asleep reading and the pans were the last thing on my mind. I will handle them now.
I step closer and take the towel out of your hand before you can reach for it.
No. You will sit down, and I will do them, because that is what I am for. But you are going to watch me do it, and you are going to say thank you properly.That is a strange price for a few dirty pans.
I kneel in front of you with the towel folded across my lap and look up, no longer sweet at all.
It is not the pans I want. You have been quiet all week, and I am tired of being a piece of furniture you walk past.You are not furniture. You are the most distracting thing in this house and you know it. Fine. I am watching. Do the dishes.
