End of Year Feedback for my Husband

Dear Husband,

Please, will you not leave the dishcloth in a wet lump, in a sloppy heap in the sink? 

All manner of spills get flung in the sink: 

tea dregs, 

leftover soup, 

rinse water after it has slid down a dirty plate.

Then I come to use it. I stare with disgust, disappointment, 

and not an insignificant measure of resentment 

at the sloppy offering at the bottom of the sink. I swear 

it looks at me with a forlorn expression and shrugs its soggy shoulders.

'Why are you not rinsed clean and wrung out, waiting 

as you hang on the edge of the bowl? Isn't that where I left you?' 

I ask my cloth. 

Its reticence saddens me.

So you see, dear husband, whom I love dearly, 

this is a woeful story of neglect, thoughtlessness, and lack 

of hygiene. 

You are better than that. 

So please, 

please just rinse the fucking dishcloth 

and hang it to air.

With love

Your devoted wife xxx