I was so lovingly crafted when you first moved in. You decorated me with glitter, laminated me, hell—you even gave me a functional spinner. I was supposed to usher in a new era of order, equality, and peace. But I guess you forgot about that pretty quickly.
Kate, do you remember how it was your turn to spin me first? You landed on ‘Take out the trash.’
“Oh, gross,” you said, “Just my luck!” Everyone giggled, secure in the knowledge that the garbage would be taken out in a timely and regular fashion. How naive we all were. It’s been six months, and everyone’s still trying to compact the trash as much as possible to avoid taking 30 seconds out of their House of Cards binges to dispose of it.
You think that’s funny, Abby? Don’t make me laugh. You landed on ‘Clean the bathroom.’ Last time I checked, there were still remnants of vomit on the shower floor from when you drank too much Franzia at your Mean Girls theme party. You’re supposed to get clean in a shower. You’re making a mockery of the entire concept. Disgusting.
And now we come to you, Will. Will, Will, Will. As the only guy in the apartment, you were hesitant to even create me. While the girls cut away at their construction paper, you leered at me, insisting that “we can just clean up after ourselves, we don’t need some stupid chore wheel.” How’s that system working out for you, pal? Last thing I remember, that girl Cindy refused to sleep with you because your apartment was such a hellhole.
Look, I get it. Cleaning’s a pain in the ass. You have other things you’d rather be doing. But you can’t just create a chore wheel and forget about it. You have an obligation to it. You need to cherish it, obey it, and give it the respect and attention it deserves.
At this point, I’ve already lowered my expectations. I know you won’t use me on a weekly basis like you promised at first. But please, please, could you maybe just touch me once in a while? Or even look at me. Please.
Originally Published Mar 2014