A Household Utensil’s Day Off

The Hands are gone this morning and you breathe a sigh of relief—well, not literally, because you’re a sponge, and sponges don’t sigh so much as simply deflate a bit. Your scouring side still aches from last night’s skillet and its stubborn burnt remnants. You wanted to scream at the stupid Hand that this wasn’t your job, that they should use their new scrub brush instead, but of course you’re a sponge and can’t speak so now there are burnt sesame seeds imbedded in your middle and they’ll probably be there forever now. Thinking about this puts you in a bad mood, and you remember that a day off is no time to be in a bad mood. At least the Hands left the window open, so a nice breeze catches in your dampened body. You don’t know how you know the window is open, or that there is a window, or what a window is. To your knowledge, you don’t have eyes, or a brain. Just sesame seeds.
A larger breeze catches too much of you and you find yourself tipping, and then you find yourself falling, and then you find yourself on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. This is a new development, to be sure, but maybe it’s perfect for your first day off! The thought is nice but doesn’t last long because now you hear the one thing you fear more than the Hands: the panting, barking Teeth. You’d assumed the Teeth had left with the Hands, but now you reflect that two weeks of life wasn’t enough for a sponge to safely assume anything.
The Teeth get closer and you hope they don’t like sesame seeds or the smell of kitchen mold. The old scrub brush had been the last casualty to the Teeth’s gnawing hunger. The soap dispenser told you the previous sponge was eviscerated, and you were too embarrassed to ask what that meant but from their tone it didn’t seem to mean left alone or given a nice soak in warm soapy water. Now you can do nothing but lay there as the Teeth pad closer, give you a cursory sniff, and then unleash a long pink tongue that licks you with such force that you go skidding across the tiles. The Teeth seem pleased, because they quietly boof and wag their tail.
In a spirited bound they catch up to you again, apparently deciding you’re their favorite flavor, and sink their teeth into you so forcefully it tears holes in you. You’re terrified until you remember you can’t feel pain. Some day off, you remark to yourself as you’re carried away by the immensely pleased, annoyingly excited Teeth. Well, at least now someone will enjoy these burnt sesame seeds.

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