“Myrtle, you have to do the dishes every night,” I said in a voice loud enough to carry through the 1,400 square foot house.
“That’s the deal,” I added, my voice lower and sterner.
The kitchen tap opened, and hot water poured into the washbasin. Dish soap floated out of the bottle and spun its way into the hot water. My dinner plate, water glass, and silverware clanged as she dropped them into the washtub. Myrtle always had to give attitude.
“Thank you, finally,” I told her as I walked out of the kitchen.
I heard the clanking of dishes and pots for a few minutes before the kitchen light switched off.
“See, that didn’t take you too long,” I said. “and it’s Tuesday, the bathtub needs scrubbing.”
I sat back on the couch and unpaused Netflix. The tap on the bathtub roared open. I don’t know how much time passed, but I became aware that the bathtub was still running. I shot off the couch and ran down the hall and into the bedroom, where the water had already started to soak into the rug. My feet were sopping as I ran into the bathroom and turned off the tap. The water in the tub scalded my hand and arm as I reached to pull the metal loop on the drain stopper.
“God damn it, Myrtle!”
I brought every towel I owned and a few extra sheets to soak up the water before it could buckle the bedroom’s wood floor. The tub was clean, though. Myrtle does what she’s told but has to cause trouble while doing it.
I left the soppy mess for a moment to get myself a beer from the fridge. I turned on the kitchen light, a pyramid of pots, plates, glasses, and silverware straddled the sink. I wasn’t sure how she had done it or if I could even take it down without it all collapsing.
“Myrtle!”
I needed two beers.