Guest Post: Jennifer Moore is a writer who blogs great book reviews and such at The Write Stuff (HERE) She's also just a ton of fun.
This house isn’t a Democracy,
or a Republic,
or a Plutocracy.
It’s a Matriarchy,
or more specifically, a Dictatorship, where a tyrant rules
—Oh, and that is me. That’s right. I don’t make any justification for commanding my underlings to do my bidding. Usually, I just don’t feel like doing it myself.
And, there are some tasks that I flatly refuse to perform.
Putting away laundry
Cleaning out the dishwasher
And making my bed.
I hate it.
I don’t want my bed made.
I don’t care if it looks nice.
Or makes my room look clean.
Or if I have adorable throw-pillows to decorate it.
What if I want to sit on it and read? Or write?
Or what if somehow, the stars line up and I have 20 minutes of peace and quiet to (gasp) take a nap. I don’t want to curl up on a made bed. I like getting all comfy in the sheets, and blankets, and pillows.
I don’t like my bed made.
But every morning, my subjects must make their beds before school. Or friends, or x-box.
But I don’t have to.
Because I am the supreme ruler of my house.
And I’m mean like that.