Imagine if your sole purpose in life was to be stepped on. To you, I am just your kitchen floor. I have no voice and no say in what happens to me. Believe it or not, I have feelings.

I have been stepped on, stomped on, even cried on. The only care you provide for me is when you lazily wipe my surface with that old, rusty mop once every two weeks. All the dirt and dust that covers my exterior is wiped clean, and I am left with a fresh, clean slate. However, for some reason, I always end up getting dirty again. The dog seems to be my best friend at times and my worst nightmare. I provide a cool surface for him to lie on during the long, hot summer days. However, the sticky mixture of his slobber and his shedding leaves me feeling disgusted. I have a constant shell of filth all the time.

When Mom makes dessert, especially her famous banana pudding, somehow she always ends up spilling a drop of thick, vanilla pudding on me. Often, five-year-old Billy spills his goldfish, and Dad proceeds to accidently step on it. Crumbs everywhere. Don't even get me started on spilled milk. You lazily wipe a paper towel over me, but the milk seeps into the cracks where it finds its final resting place.

Rain is my worst nightmare. You carelessly strut into the house with your muddy rain boots, ruining my shiny, pure white surface.

Not all parts of my life have been bad. I remember when you first picked me out. I thought you were going to pick the red tile. But you ended up picking me, the shiny black and white tile. (Personally, I'm not a fan of red.) I've watched the kids grow up. I remember when young Billy would crawl around on me. He took his first steps on me. I used to love when Lucy wore those soft pink bunny slippers. Those felt nice when she would glide across my smooth floor. Now all she wears is those red stilettos. (Again, not a fan of red.) Those pierce into me and hurt me. She used to play board games with Dad all the time. The dice would skip across my smooth surface. I remember Billy and Lucy would always fight over who got to be the dog in Monopoly. I don’t even remember the last time she played board games with the family. The Monopoly dog is rotting under the refrigerator. Lonely and forgotten, like me.

You don't realize it, however, most things you do really affect me. I'm tired of being stepped on. I'm tired of being used and mistreated. And most of all, I'm tired of being taken advantage of.

Oh, and the new Swiffer Sweeper totally is not worth it.


Your Kitchen Floor.