A Letter to My Kitchen Floor
Dear Kitchen Floor,
Every morning, I walk down the stairs, and I vomit in my mouth when I see you.
That’s how ugly you are.
Your nicotine-stained linoleum tiles drive me crazy. I hate that I can spend an entire naptime scrubbing the crap out of you, sweating like crazy – only to have you look like someone smeared a dirty diaper all over the place within 10 minutes.
I hate you so much, that if you were stranded by the side of the road with no one to help you, in the middle of a blizzard – I would not stop.
If you were hanging on the edge of a cliff screaming for help – and all I had to do was reach out a hand to save your life – I would not.
You turn my kids’ feet black.
I’m afraid that we’re all going to get an STD just by being in your presence.
I would rather claw my own eyes out, go through natural child birth, run another marathon – than look at you for one more day of my life.
Oh – and you’re fat.
And your mom is too!
Oh, and Even Steven – if I have to hear you tell me one more time that we’re lucky to even have a kitchen floor – I will smack you in the face.