Never again is what you swore the time before.

Now that I won't be having to deal with the freezer for a year or so, I have a bone to pick with some other household (and personal) chores...

Kitchen floor, you promised that if I mopped and scrubbed you really well, like on my hands and knees, you would stay clean forever. Or at least longer than one meal. But already I see crumbs and spills and we haven't even eaten dinner yet.

Dishes, counter tops, and dishwasher--don't even get me started.

Big huge lawn, you promised that if we spent an hour and a half mowing you with our cruddy lawn mower, you would stop growing. Not die, just stop growing. But there you are, overgrown and weedy once again. At least we have six months off here pretty soon while you sleep under a blanket of frost and snow.

Legs, you promised that if I shaved you you would stay nice and smooth. There is a lot of surface area to cover and I waste a lot of hot water taking such a long shower. But one day later, you are stubbly and scratchy once more. Good thing you, too, will be hiding under pants for the next six months.

Treadmill, you promised that if I ran extra hard on you in the wee hours of the morning while I watched "Hoarders" on a tiny TV that I would never have to exercise again. And that I would lose weight. But here I am the next morning, still just as thick and sturdy as before.

Laundry, you promised that if we sorted you and washed you and dried you and folded you and put you away that you would always be ready for us to wear. You said you would never pile up again. But somehow six baskets full of you manage to find their way to my bedroom every Thursday night.

Sleep, you promised that if I just put my pajamas on and got into bed and snuggled up in the nice cool sleeping weather that I could have you until my body was through with you on its own. But then I heard that nastiest of all noises. The alarm clock. Why must you continue to be in cahoots with that devil?

Closet door at the foot of the stairs, you promised that if I closed you just one more time, you would stay closed for an entire day. But even when it seems like all the backpacks have been stashed inside you and there is no more reason to open you, there you are, wide and gaping. I swear I must close you every time I come down the stairs.

Who says nothing stays the same? I must be willing to play the game. Cuz you keep coming around again.

And again.

And again.