Neverending Lau-ahn-dreeee!

If there’s one thing I hate in life, it’s chocolate-covered raisins. Such deception!

A close second, however, is housework.

Dishes, tidying up, laundry, vacuuming, dusting, toilets, mirrors, counters, beds, shelves, drapes, dishes, windows, cooking, laundry, showers, mopping, dishes, and laundry -over and over in a neverending cycle!!

Growing up with chores, I knew my parents assigned them out of a sadistic sense of selfishness. When I’m older, I vowed, I am never doing jobs!

I haven’t quite checked that one off my bucket list.

I have learned which tasks I prefer over others. Like, loading a dishwasher or organizing a space instead of putting away clothes. And, I’ve talked with others who’ve told me their most- and least-favorite chores. An aunt says she hates vacuuming the floor but my sister loves it.

Photo by RODNAE Productions on

Which leads to today’s obvious question: do you think chocolate-covered raisins are an abomination?

All right, all right. Do you have a household task you’re fond of? What about one you despise?


Voilà! The posts of the week we had:
Wednesday, January 12: “Ya Know What I Mean?,” wherein we discussed irritating idiosyncrasies.

Thursday, January 13: The love story of “Beatrice Box.

Friday, January 14: “Foremost, Facts are Freeing” for Pensitivity’s Three Things Challenge.

Saturday, January 15: Friday Photo.

Sunday, January 16: Internet quote.

Monday, January 17: “I’m a Mormon, So I Don’t Drink Coffee.

Tuesday, January 18: “To Be Readtinued,” in answer to D. Wallace Peach’s writing prompt.

Matt of A Prolific Potpourri has been doing audio performances of my Wilhelmina Winters series. He does them once a month for Short Story Saturday and they are excellent. Go listen!!

©2022 Chel Owens

Housework Horror

Whirring, whirring, whirring. The vacuum passed once, twice, a dozen times across the matted carpet.

He frowned in concentration at his occupied hands.

She heard the clicking clunk of swallowed floor matter. A sound that once satisfied, it now grated with repetition. She’d passed over that very spot last week, yesterday, and this morning.

His people needed an upgrade. He carefully tapped the flashing arrows.

Numbly, silently, masked by a roaring tool, she shuffled around the occupied couch. She glanced at his head, bowed in solemn screen-scroll. The cord snaked obediently behind. She vacuumed under his propped-up feet.

Shifting slightly, he activated a virtual addition.

Whir, clink, clunk. She pulled the vacuum tail along, into the next room, near the basement stairs. Its machined voice called eerily down the cemented hole; it reflected in dull echoes from unfinished walls and floors below.

He could add more people to live in the addition.

She paused, transfixed by the darkness beneath, consumed by the darkness within. Pulling impatiently, the sucking beast edged near the naked stairs.

Another notification; another tap.

She let go of cord and machine. Black pulled outward, propelling inward. She fell, she flew; free for a few, fleeting steps.

He thought to relieve himself. Maybe in a few turns.

Whir, clunk, clunk. The vacuum engine moaned, feebly trapped between wall and banister; masking a quiet, feeble plea far below.