The happiest thing about today is that tomorrow is Friday. Am I right, or am I right?
I'm sorry I've neglected you. I'm even more sorry that you've been sitting in my sink for three days. Except I'm not sorry, because I hate doing the dishes.
Dear Sink Full of Dishes,
Go scrub yourselves. No, really. You've been sitting there since Sunday - can't you just clean yourselves?
Dear Newspapers Scattered all over my Floor,
How did you even get there? I sure as heck didn't put you there, did I? Or did I? Eh. Who cares?! I'll pick you up later. Like in a week.
I'm sorry I haven't wiped you down in, oh.... a month. I clean you off occasionally - does that count?
How often are you supposed to be scrubbed? Because I've ignored you since we moved in.
I've probably been seeing too much of you lately, but I just can't help myself. Don't tell the vacuum - he'll get jealous.
I'm sorry I've been scattering you all over the house, miles away from your nice warm home. Maybe I'll get better, but probably not (I've had this bad habit since I could walk).
Please tell me that I'm not the only one that could write a book full of letters like these.